LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap..?JlTcopyright No 



Shelf. 



utM 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 




Heidelberg Castle. 



Twenty Years in Europe 



A CONSUL - GENERAL S MEMORIES 
OF NOTED PEOPLE, WITH LETTERS 
FROM GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN 



BY / 

S. H. M. BYERS, 

U. S. €onsul- General to Switzerland and Italy, 

author of 

Sherman's March to the Sea," "The Happy Isles, 

"Switzerland and the Swiss," etc. 



PRO FUSEL y ILL USTRA TED. 




Chicago and New York: 

RAND, McNALLY & COMPANY, 

publishers. 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 

Library of Confret% 
Office of tkt 

MAY 3 11900 

Register of Cepyrlfbfft 
SICOND COPY. 



590 f I- 



Copyright, 1900, by Rand, McNally & Co. 



00 - x^^H 






INSCRIBED 

TO 

MARGARET GILMOUR BYERS 



Time robs us all of some things we would keep, 
And favoring winds to-morrow may forsake ; 

But, joj^ous thought — O! Future! Smile or weep, 
The happy years behind us none can take ! 



NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR. 

While staying in Switzerland and Italy as a consular 
officer, during a period of well on to twenty years, I kept a 
diary of my life. Without being a copy of the diary, this 
book is made up from its pages and from my own recollec- 
tions of men, scenes, and events. It was during an inter- 
esting period, too. There were stirring times in Europe. 
Two great wars took place; one great empire was born; 
another became a republic; and the country of Victor 
Emmanuel changed from a lot of petty dukedoms to a free 
Italy. It seemed a great period everywhere, and every- 
thing of men and events jotted down at such a time would 
of necessity have its interest. This book is not a history — 
only some recollections and some letters. 

Among the letters are some fifty from General Sherman, 
whose intimate friendship I enjoyed from the war times till 
the day of his death. They are printed with permission of 
those now interested, and they may be regarded as in a 
way supplementary to the series of more public letters of 
General Sherman printed by me in the North American 
Review during his lifetime. They possess the added inter- 
est that must attach to the intimate letters of friendship 
coming from a brilliant mind. Their publication can only 
help to lift the veil a little from a life that was as true and 
good in private as it was noble in public. 

S. H. M. BYERS. 

St. Helens, Des Moines. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER I. 

1869. PAGE. 

A Little^White Card with President Grant's Name on It — A Voy- 
age to Europe — An English Inn — Hear Gladstone Speak — 
John Bright and Disraeli 15 

CHAPTER II. 

1869. 

In Switzerland — The Alps — Embarrassment in Not Knowing 
the Language — Celebrated Exiles Meet in -a Certain Cafe — 
Brentano — Wagner — Kinkel — Scherr — Keller and Others. 20 

CHAPTER III. 

1870. 

In the Orsini Cafe — Great News from France — What the Exiles 
Think — Letter from General Sherman — I Get Permission 
to Go and Look at the War — In the Snow of the Juras — 
Arrested — The Surrender of the 80,000 — Zurich in the 
Hands of a Mob — A Friendly Hint 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

1871. 

The Paris Horrors — Some Excursions with Literary People — 
Beer Gardens — A Characteristic Funeral — Funeral of a 
Poet's Child — Caroline Bauer, the Actress — A Polish Patriot 

— Celebrating the Fourth of July at Castle Rapperschwyl — 
The St. Bernard — The Mules and Dogs — On a Swiss Farm 

— For Burning Chicago 34 

CHAPTER V. 

1872. 

Louis Blanc, the Statesman — His Novel Courtship — His Appear- 
ance — Invites Us to Paris — Just Miss Victor Hugo — His 
Speech at Madame Blanc's Grave — Letter from Louis Blanc 

— Alabama Arbitrators — See Gambetta and Jules Favre. . 42 

CHAPTER VI. 

1872. 

William Tell — The Rigi in the Good Old Times — Pilatus — 
Rose Bushes for Fuel 48 

(9) 



10 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER VII. 

^o'J2. PAGE. 

General Sherman Visits Us at Zurich — Letters from Him — 
Swiss Officers Entertain Him — His Lake Excursion — He 
Explains His Greatest Campaign to Them — He is Enter- 
tained at the Swiss Capital — Letter from General Duf our. . 52 

CHAPTER VIII. 

1872. 

Letter from General Sherman — Visit America — Sands of Bremen 

— Storms at Sea — Elihu Washburne — Banquet to Him on 
Ship — I am a Guest at the Sherman Home — Mrs. Sherman — 
Arrange to Take Miss Sherman to Europe — Meet Mr. Blaine 

— My Song Sung in the Sherman Home — Conversations with 
Sherman — Meet President Grant — How I Happened to Be 

in the Rebel Army Once — Letters from General Sherman. . 61 

CHAPTER IX. 

1873- 
Letter from General Sherman — Loss of the "Atlantic" — The 
Boyhood Home of Napoleon III and of His Mother, Queen 
Hortense — A Companion Tells of the Prince's Pranks and 
Studies — Josephine's Harp — Arenaberg Full of Napoleon 
Relics — We Have a Long Interview with the Ex-Empress 
Eugenie — Letter from Sherman — Speaks of Thiers. . . 77 

CHAPTER X. 

1873- 
The Source of the Rhine — Strange Villages There — A Republic 
Four Hundred Years Old — The "Gray League" — "The 
League of the House of God " — Louis Philippe's Hiding 
Place — A Tour in the Valley of the Inn — Letter from Gen- 
eral Sherman — Regrets His Career Seems Over. . . .86 

CHAPTER XL 

1874. 
Sherman on Cuba — Visit Italy — Garibaldi's Wonderful Recep- 
tion at Rome — The Artist Freeman — First American Painter 
to Live in Rome — Rome in 1840 — See Victor Emmanuel — 
Joaquin Miller — His Conversation and Appearance — New 
Swiss Constitution — More Letters from General Sherman — 
Too Many Commanders in Washington for Him — Will Go 
to St. Louis — His Views of War Histories 95 

CHAPTER XII. 

1875. 
Letters from Mrs. Sherman and the General— He Tells Me He is 
Writing His Life — The Negro Question — A Chateau by 
Lake Zurich — I Write a Book on Switzerland — Also Write 
a Play — A City of Dead Kings — Go to London — Meet 
Colonel Forney — Dinner at George W. Smalley's — Kate 



CONTENTS. 11 

PAGE. 

Field — Visit Boucicault — Conversations with the Newer 
Shakespeare — The Beautiful Minnie Walton — Breakfast at 
Her Home — Professor Fick — His Home Built in the Old. 
Roman Wall — Lectures — Holidays at the Consulate — Mrs. 
Congressman Kelley — A Student Commerz — Beer Drinking 

— Dukes of the Republic — Duels — Letter from General 
Sherman — Prussian Army Maneuvers 104 

CHAPTER XIII. 

1876. 

Storm in the Alps — Mr. Benjamin — Kate Sherwood Bonner — 
Icebergs — A Scotch Poet — Horatio King's Literary Evenings 

— Colonel Forney — Mr. Robert — A New York Millionaire's 
Home — A Christmas Night Hurricane at Sea — The Tilden- ^ 
Hayes Fight — Civil War Feared in Washington — Dennison, 

the Inventor — A Strange Murder — The Wreck of the Schiller 
and Loss of Miss Dimmick 119 

CHAPTER XIV. 

1877. 
General Grant Visits Lake Luzern — Conversations with Him — 
How I Brought the Good News of Sherman's Successes in 
the Carolinas to General Grant at Richmond — Grant's Sim- 
plicity in His Travels — A Strange Experience on the Rigi — 
London Papers Amazed at the Population of the United 
States — First Telephone. 128 

CHAPTER XV. 

1877. 

General Grant and the Swiss President — Banquet to Grant at 
Bern — Good Roads — Am Charge d' Affaires for Switzerland 

— Writing for the Magazines 134 

CHAPTER XVI. 
1877. 

Franz Liszt at Zurich — Swiss Great Lovers of Music — Wagner 
Once Lived Here — His Singular Ways — Dr. Willi — Mad- 
ame Lucca's Villa — Liszt's Kissing Bees — Jefferson Davis' 
Daughter — A Laughable Mistake 140 

CHAPTER XVII. 

1878. 

Some Recollections of Mine about General Grant in the War — 
Grant at Champion Hills — Sherman's Letter on Confiscation 
by Taxation in America — Grant at Ragatz — I Give a Ban- 
quet in His Honor at Zurich 145 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

1878. 

The St. Gothard Tunnel — I Describe It for Harper's Magazine 

— Its Cost — A Great Scare in the Tunnel 153 



12 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

1879. PAGE. 

American Artists at Munich — I Meet Mark Twain — Take Him 
to an Artists' Club — Conversations with Him — Beer Drink- 
ing — He Reads the Original of ' ' What I Know about the 
German Language " — We Entertain the Americans at Zurich 

— A Letter from General Sherman — Confederates More 
Popular than Union Men — Sherman Ready to Surrender. . 157 

CHAPTER XX. 

1879. 

A Trip Through the Black Forest — Stein on the Rhine — A Fam- 
ous Castle — " All Blown Up "— Good Roads — Fox Hunting. 165 

CHAPTER XXI. 

1879. 

Bret Harte — Letters from Him — Visits Us — Stay at Bocken — 
Conversations — Mrs. Senator Sherman — Evenings at Bocken 
— We All Go to the Rigi — How We Got the "Prince's" Rooms 

— Harte Goes with Us to Obstalden in the Alps — Very Simple 
Life — A Strange Funeral — Harte Finds His Stories in a Village 
Inn — More Letters — We Visit the Moselle River — Finer than 
the Rhine — A Wonderful Castle of the Middle Ages — All 
Furnished and Fresh as When New — The French Did Not 
Find It When They Were Demolishing German Castles — An 
Exquisite Gothic Church Five Hundred Years Old — Won- 
derful Roman Ruins at Treves — More Letters from Bret 
Harte — A Happy Man 170 

CHAPTER XXII. 

1880-1881. 

A Little Stay by the Mediterranean — Am Offered a Position in 
China — An Article on the Swiss Rhine — Also One on My 
Experiences in the Rebel Army — Two Letters from General 
Sherman — Grant and the Presidency — Says the Bare Nar- 
rative of My Escape from Prison Would Be an Epic — Banquet 
at the Legation — I Write for the New York Tribune an Expose 
of How Certain European Communities Sent Paupers to the 
United States — Am Violently Attacked for It by Many Ameri- 
can Journals and Reprimanded by State Department — Swiss 
Government Complains — Investigation Follows — I Am Jus- 
tified — Letter from Sherman as to His Son Tom — Visit 
America — Secretary Blaine Compliments Me — The Press 
Changes Its Tone and New Laws Are Adopted as to Immi- 
gration in United States and Switzerland — Tribune Says 
Editorially," Mr. Byers Deserves the Thanks of the American 
People" — A Little Visit to the Poet Longfellow, and the 
Alcotts; also to the Author of "America." .... 1S9 



CONTENTS. 13 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

1 88 1. PAGE. 

Elm and All Its People Destroyed by an Avalanche — A Foot 
Trip in Ireland — Fenians — Red Coats — Poverty— The Queen 
Hooted — Out of Jail and a Hero — Muckross Abbey by Moon- 
light — An Irish Funeral — A Duplicate Blarney Stone — 
Letters from General Sherman — The Duke of Wellington 

— The Assassination of President Garfield 205 / 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

1882-1883. 

Visit Northern Italy — American Indians in Zurich — Death of the 
Poet Kinkel — Letters from Carl Schurz and the Poet's Wife 
— Letter from Sherman as to the Bounteous Mississippi Valley 
— A Second Letter from Sherman — The Presidency — Conver- 
sations with Scherr, the Writer — The Poet Kinkel's Son — His 
Powerful Memory — We Visit Berlin — Minister Sargent's 
Trouble with Prince Bismarck over American Pork — Sargent 
Is Appointed to St. Petersburg — Indians Again — Baby Lions 

— Visit America Again — Funeral of the Author of ** Home, 
Sweet Home " — Swiss National Exhibition — The Swiss War 
Minister Visits Me — We Had Been Comrades in Libby Prison 

— Trouble with Fraudulent Invoices — Origin of Expert Sys- 
tem at Consulate — I Succeed in Stopping the Frauds — My 
Action is Reported at Washington as Saving a Million Dollars 
to the Government — Another Letter from General Sherman 

— His Coming Retirement from the Army 216 

CHAPTER XXV. 

1884. 

Some Interesting Letters from General Sherman — Requests for 
Souvenirs — His " Flaming Sword " — One on the Presidency 

— I Am Appointed Consul General for Italy — An American 
Fourth of July Picnic on Lake Zurich — Lord Byron's Home 
in Switzerland — Some Old Letters about His Life There — 
The Lake Dwellings of Switzerland — Keller, the Antiquarian 

— Power of Swiss Torrents 225 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

1884. 

Start for Italy — The Cholera — Ten Days in Quarantine on Lake 
Maggiore — A Heroic King — We Are Presented to Queen 
Margaret — American Artists in Rome — The Royal Balls — 
Receptions and Parties — Meet Many People of Note — The 
Hills of Rome — Minister Astor and His Home — Hugh Con- 
way — Ibsen — Marion Crawford — One of the Bonapartes — 
Keats' Room — The Cardinals — Ischia Destroyed — Christ- 
mas in Rome — Letter from General Sherman — His Views 
of Rome — Cleveland's Election — Franz Liszt Again. . . 244 



/ 



14 CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

1885. PAGE. 

Still in Rome — Presented to Pope Leo XIII — Story, the Poet 
Sculptor — Randolph Rogers — Tilton — Elihu Vedder — Astor 
Resigns — Secretary of Legation Dies with Roman Fever — 
I Am Put in Charge of Legation — Capri — Governor Pier- 
pont — Things Supernatural — Talk against Gladstone — 
Shakespeare Wood — Senator Moleschott, a Remarkable Man 
— Interesting Letters from General Sherman — Party Stronger 
than Patriotism; My Recall — Money Lending and Taxes — 
Keep Out of DelDt " 261 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 
1886. 

The North American Review Engages Me to Edit Several Chap- 
ters of the Sherman Correspondence — Sherman Writes as to 
Magazines and His Book — The General Invites Me to Come 
and Stay at His Home in St. Louis — He Offers Me the Use 
of All His Papers — I Publish Also in the Review a Prose 
Narrative of the March to the Sea — Mrs. Sherman Reads It 
to the General — Buffalo Bill — General Gives Me His Army 
Badge — Nights in Sherman's Office — Conversations with 
Him — Life in the Sherman Home — The General's Complete 
Reconciliation with His Son Tom — Interesting Letters from 
Sherman as to Magazines — His Forthcoming Book — Farms 
and Taxes — War Histories — Grant's Book — Newspapers — 
Christmas Letter 274 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

1887-1890. 

An Interesting Letter from General Grant — Sherman Living in 
New York — His Immense Popularity with All Americans — 
Letters from Him — Exhibited Like a Circus — No Union Man 
Left in Foreign Service by Cleveland — He Writes for the 
Magazines — Magazines Again — Approves My Article in the 
North American Review on the March to the Sea — Humblest 
Union Man Better Patriot than the Proudest South Carolina 
Rebel — Sheridan Dying — Congress Should Make Rank of 
Lieutenant General Permanent — His Reception at Columbus 

— Death of Mrs. Sherman — About His Memoirs — No Profit 

— The Army of the Tennessee at Cincinnati — My Poem 
k/' There — An Odd Interview at the White House — Conversa- 
tions with Secretary Blaine — Death of the Great General — 
Speeches About Him in the Senate — I Am Again Appointed 

to Switzerland 287 

CHAPTER XXX. 
1891. 
Go to Switzerland as Consul General — An Ocean Voyage Then 
and Now — A Glimpse of Burns' Home — The Highest City in 
Europe — A Novel Republic — Life in the Higher Alps — 
Headquarters for Embroidery — Princess Salm-Salm — An 
Open Air Parliament— The Upper Rhine— At Hamburg— A 
Summer on the Baltic — Interview with Prince Bismarck. . 304 



TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 



CHAPTER I 
1869 

A LITTLE WHITE CARD WITH PRESIDENT GRANT'S NAME ON 
IT — A VOYAGE TO EUROPE — AN ENGLISH INN — HEAR 
GLADSTONE SPEAK JOHN BRIGHT AND DISRAELI. 

In the State Department at Washington, there is on file a 
plain little visiting card, signed by President U. S. Grant. 
That card was the Secretary's authority for commissioning 
me Consul to Zurich. 'T would much like to have that little 
card," I said to an Assistant Secretary, long years after- 
ward. "Most anybody would," replied the official, smiling. 
"You may copy it, but it can not be taken from the files." 

That card, in its time, had been of consequence to me. 
It took me from a quiet little Western town to a beautiful 
Swiss city, where I was to spend many years of my life, and 
where I was to meet people, look on scenes and experience 
incidents worth telling about. And now it has led to my 
writing down the recollections of them in a book. 

I had served four years, that were full of incident, in the 
Civil War. At its close the opportunity was mine to enter 
the regular army with a promotion ; but many months in 
Southern prisons had nearly ruined my health and I declined 
the proffered commission. 

"You did well," wrote General Sherman to me, "to prefer 
civil to military pursuits ; and I hope you will prosper in 
whatever you undertake. You now know that all things 

(15) 



16 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

resulted quite as well as we had reason to expect" (referring 
to the Carolina campaign), ''and now, all prisoners are free 
— the war over." 

The years immediately following the war were spent in 
efforts to get well, and now when this offer to go to Switzer- 
land, with its glorious scenery and salubrious climate, came, 
I was overjoyed. 

On the 23d of July, 1869, ^Y newly wedded wife and I 
were standing on the deck of an ocean steamer in the harbor 
of New York. It was the "City of London." 

As the sun went down in the sea that night, many stood 
on the deck there with us, straining their eyes at a long, low 
strip of land bordering the horizon, now far behind them. 
It was America. Some were looking at it for the last time. 
My wife and I were not to see it again, except on flying 
visits, for sixteen years. The gentle breeze, the summer 
twilight, the vast and quiet ocean, the limitless expanse, the 
silence, save the panting of the engines, the white sails and 
the evening light of distant ships passing, gave us a feeling 
of far-offness from all that belonged to home. 

Shortly the great broad moon, apparently twice its usual 
size, quietly slipped up out of the sea. At first we scarcely 
realized what it was, it was so great, so splendid, so unex- 
pected. Moonlight everywhere is calming and impressive 
to the senses, but at sea, spread out over the limitless deep 
— with the great starlit tent of the heavens reaching all 
around and down to the waters, it touches the heart to its 
very depths. We scarcely slept that night — the sea and the 
moonlight were too beautiful. We walked the deck and 
built air castles. 

August 5, i86p. — Yesterday our ship entered the Mersey 
and turned in among a wilderness of masts in front of Liver- 
pool. We walked about some in the city of Gladstone's 
birth, and that night had our first experience of the quiet 
comforts of a little English inn. The gentility, the wel- 
come, the home snugness, the open fireplace, the teakettle, 



LIVERPOOL AND LONDON 17 

the high-posted, curtained beds, all contrasted strongly 
with a noisy, American tavern, with its loud talk and dirty 
tobacco-spitting accompaniments. The enormous feet of 
the Liverpool cart-horses also impressed us. 

This morning we called at the American Consulate. The 
clerk said the Consul was away at the bank. Possibly like 
Hawthorne, one of his predecessors, he found nothing to do 
here but look after his salary. Anyway this Consulate is 
one of the best things in the gift of the President. In Haw- 
thorne's time, the pay was four times that of a Cabinet 
officer. Some years, the fees equaled the President's own 
salary. 

August 10. — The sights we had most wanted to see in 
London were the Tower, the Abbey, the Fish Market, the 
docks, and the fogs ; these and Mr. Gladstone. The fogs 
we did not need to see ; we could feel them in our very bones. 
It was fog everywhere. Three people were reported killed 
the very day we got here — run over by wagons and omni- 
buses, plowing through the murky thickness. Street lamps 
are burning in the middle of the afternoon. 

Billingsgate Fish Market was not half so wicked as I had 
heard. It is said to be two hundred years old. It smells 
as if it were a thousand. There is possibly nothing so 
interesting to an American elsewhere on English earth, as 
the "Poets' Corner" in Westminster Abbey, and, next to 
that, the Tower of London. 

The opulence of the London docks also simply amazed 
us. Imagine an underground wine vault, seven acres in 
extent. The total vaults of the Eastern Dock Co. measure 
890,000 square feet. The St. Catherine Docks cost nine 
millions of pounds. 

John Lothrop Motley, the historian, is American Minister 
at London. We called. Found him a tall, aristocratic, con- 
sumptive-looking man, apparently not over glad to see trav- 
eling Americans. He had in his youth been a fellow 

student of Bismarck. Later, his daughters married Eng- 
a 



18 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

lishmen. Mr. Motley, like some other Americans sent to 
high office in London, is not extremely popular among his 
own countrymen. Neither did Grant approve him ; but re- 
moved him later, spite of his backing by Charles Sumner. 

The Secretary of Legation kindly got me a ticket to the 
gallery of the House of Parliament. It seemed extraordi- 
nary good luck, for whom else should I hear speak, that very 
afternoon, but John Bright, Mr. Gladstone and the future 
Lord Disraeli. I looked for oratory in Mr. Gladstone and 
saw none, either of voice, manner or word. The subject 
possibly required none. It was the Scotch Education Bill. 
The tall, ^rave, spare-looking man stood there with papers 
in his hand, talking in the most commonplace manner. 
Often he turned to some colleague and looked and waited 
as if expecting an explanation. At last he sat down sud- 
denly, as if he had got up out of time. Mr. Disraeli had 
been sitting there, writing something on the top of his hat, 
which he had just taken ofif for the purpose. There seemed 
to be no desks. When I first noticed numbers of the mem- 
bers with their hats on, I wondered if the session had begun. 
What I noticed about Mr. Disraeli was the long legs he 
stretched out before him, the dark, intellectual face, the 
large features, the yellow skin, the long black hair, the 
Jewish expression. He followed Mr. Gladstone, but in a 
voice so subdued that I, in the gallery, did not understand 
a word he said. Burly John Bright, with his noble face and 
sturdy mien, followed. He looked like the typical English- 
man. He spoke to the bill in an earnest voice and loud 
enough, but said nothing that I remember. A Scotch mem- 
ber then rose in confusion, mumbled a few words, got 
scared, mixed up, turned red and sat down. And this is 
English oratory, I meditated, and called to mind the names 
of Douglas and Webster and Lincoln and Blaine. I sup- 
pose I was simply there on the wrong day. 

Sunday. — We spent a rainy Sunday in London, walking 
about the deserted streets. Every blind was down — there 



A RAINY SUNDAY 19 

was silence everywhere. We seemed the only people alive 
in great London town. Our melancholy was added to by 
having, through misunderstanding, missed a train that was 
to take us to a friend in the country, where a hot dinner and 
English hospitality had awaited us. 

At the Channel. — Up to this time there had been nothing 
so interesting and romantic to me in English scenery as the 
big castle above the white cliffs of Dover. There was the 
high, sloping, green plateau and the grey old Castle a 
thousand feet above us — below it was the sea — across the 
Channel, only thirty miles away, lay sunny France. 



CHAPTER II 
1869 

IN SWITZERLAND — THE ALPS — EMBARRASSMENT IN NOT 
KNOWING THE LANGUAGE — CELEBRATED EXILES MEET IN 
A CERTAIN CAFE — BRENTANO — WAGNER — KINKEL — 
SCHERR — KELLER — AND OTHERS. 

We Stayed in Paris for a week. Then, one night, we 
crossed the plains of France, and at daylight saw with 
beating hearts the Jura Mountains. They were as a high 
wall of cliff and forest, green, deep valleys and running 
rivers, between France and the land of William Tell. The 
afternoon of that day saw us at our journey's end. We 
were in beautiful Zurich. "Next to Damascus," said Dixon, 
the English traveler, 'T adore Zurich." 

That day the Glarus Alps, that usually shine so gloriously 
in front of the city, were obscured with clouds. But the 
beautiful lake was there, and old walls, and ivy-covered 
towers, and all the story of a thousand years. 

Zurich was half a mediaeval city in 1869. Years have 
since changed it ; its walls and towers have been torn down, 
and granite blocks and fashionable modern streets take the 
place, in part, of its picturesqueness, as we saw it at that 
time. 

Pretty soon I was, in a way, representing my country in 
a republic five times as old as our own. My predecessor 
recognized that he had been "rotated" out of office. He 
knew American party customs and turned over to me a few 
chairs, a desk, some maps, a flag, some books, some ac- 
counts and an enormous shield that hung over the door 

(20) 



LEARNING THE LANGUAGES 21 

with a terrible-looking eagle on it, holding a handful of 
arrows. This was the coat of arms. 

Living was cheap in Switzerland in the seventies. For one 
whole year we stayed in the "Pension Neptune," a first-class 
place in every sense. Our apartment included a finely fur- 
nished salon, a bedroom, and a large room for the con- 
sulate. For these rooms, with board for two persons, we 
paid only $3.00 per day. Just outside the pension, work- 
men were laying street pavements of stone. They worked 
from daylight till dark, for forty cents a day. The servants 
in the pension were getting ninety cents a week and board. 
The clerk in the consulate was working for $300 a year, 
without board. Good wine, and we had it always at dinner, 
was a franc a bottle. Things have changed since then. 
Switzerland is a dear country to live in now. 

In the "Neptune" we found the interesting family of 
Healy,, the American artist. He had painted half the 
famous men of Europe, even then. There, too, was the 
family of Commander Crowninshield, distinguished of late 
days as an adviser of the President in the Spanish War. 

What we were to do now, was to learn the French and 
German languages. Good teachers received but two francs, 
or forty cents, a lesson, and the necessity of the situation 
impelled us to hard study. 

One evening, shortly after our arrival at Zurich, we were 
out boating with some friends, on the beautiful lake. There 
were myriads of pretty water-craft, filled with joyous people, 
circling all about. On a floating raft near by, a band of 
music was playing airs from Wagner. Zurich was a Wag- 
ner town. It was nearing sunset, when suddenly I hap- 
pened to cast my eyes away from the people and the boats 
toward the upper end of the lake. "Look at the beautiful 
clouds," I exclaimed. My companion smiled. "They are 
not clouds," said he. "They are the Glarus Alps." It was 
the fairest sight I ever beheld in my life. Some clouds on 
the horizon had suddenly floated away, and the almost hori- 



22 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

zontal rays of a setting summer sun were shining on the 
white snowfields and ice walls of the mountains, turning 
them into jasper and gold. "That is what we call the 
'Alpine glow,' " continued my friend. 'Tt is like looking 
at the walls of Paradise," I exclaimed. Pretty soon the sun 
went down behind the Zurich hills, the jasper and the gold 
faded from the ice and the rocks of the distant mountains, a 
cold gray-white, striving to keep ofif the coming darkness, 
fell upon the scene. It was the mountains putting on their 
robes of night. These were the scenes that I was now to 
live among. Music, they say, takes up the train of thought, 
where common words leave off. That night, by the waters 
of Lake Zurich, the soft strains of well-tuned instruments 
expressed a delight for me that tongue could not utter or 
pen describe. 

Switzerland is full of scenes as glorious as this Glarus 
range, but this scene here, we were to have from our dining- 
room window always. 

September 5. — The consul of the French Empire called 
to-day to pay his respects to the consul of the great republic. 
My consular experiences were about to commence. I was 
in a dilemma. Tvly Swiss clerk, who spoke six languages 
for twenty-iive dollars a month, had stepped out. I, a plain 
American, spoke no language except my own. 

"Bonjour, IMonsieur," cheerily chirped the Frenchman. 
I advanced, and, seizing his neatly gloved hand, said "Good 
morning" in the plainest American. "What! Monsieur, 
you no parlez Francais ? Ah ! certainlee. Monsieur he 
parle Allemand. Monsieur speak a leetle Dutch?" he con- 
tinued, bowing and smiling. "I am sorry," I interrupted 
in embarrassment. "No Dutch — no Francais." "Oh! Alon- 
sieur no understand. No, no. Ah, si, Monsieur, he speak 
Spanish, certainlee — Spanish better — Spanish better — very 
fine — Americans all speak Spanish — veree." Again I shook 
my head, and again the consul bowed, and I bowed, and we 
both bowed together; and, after a few more genuflections 



GRADUATED HOTEL RATES 23 

and great embarrassment, he smiled and went backward out 
of the room. The situation was absurd. Then the ItaHan 
consul called, and then the Austrian consul, and similar 
scenes occurred. The same nonsense, without understand- 
ing a word. 

I saw at once what was necessary for me to do. Solid 
months, years, day and night almost, were to be spent learn- 
ing the language of the people among whom I was to live. 
Of course, Americans are not born with a knowledge of 
international law and an ability to speak half a dozen for- 
eign languages. 

The routine work of legalizing invoices, attending to pass- 
ports, getting foolish fellow-countrymen out of jail, and 
helping others who were ''strapped" to get to the nearest 
seaport, went on. Then there was the doing the polite thing 
generally by American travelers who called at the office to 
pay their respects to the consul. 

There were many Americans abroad even then. The 
Swiss hotels reaped great harvests from the rich American 
and English nabobs who traveled about, displaying them- 
selves and throwing away money. 

'T have special charges for all these fine fellows/' said the 
landlord of the Bellevue to me. 'Tndeed, I have three rates, 
one for the Swiss, a higher one for foreigners, and a still 
higher one for the Americans and English. The rooms are 
the same, the dinners are the same, the wines the same ; but 
the bills — ah, well, I am very glad they come." 

Soon I commenced writing reports for our Government. 
They were asked for on every conceivable subject, from 
sewer building to political economy. Every American who 
has a hobby, writes to his Congressman to know what they 
do about such things in Europe. The Congressman asks 
the State Department and the State Department asks the 
consul. He must answer in some way. 

In this way, and in guarding against frauds on the cus- 
toms, the time passed. 



24 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

In the meantime my official position secured me the 
entree into Swiss society. It enabled me at last to know 
Swiss life and to meet men and women worth the knowing. 
Many of them living in Zurich, or passing there, had Euro- 
pean reputations, for the city, like Geneva, had that about 
it that attracted people of intellect. Zurich is called the 
Swiss Athens. Novelists, poets, historians, statesmen and 
renowned professors occupied chairs in the great Univer- 
sity, or whiled away pleasant summers among the glorious 
scenery of the Alps near by. 

August 10, 18/0. — On this day I made the acquaintance 
of a remarkable man. It was Lorenzo Brentano of Chi- 
cago. He called at the consulate, and, after first greetings, 
I found out who he was. It was that Brentano who had 
been condemned to death after the Revolution of 1848 in 
South Germany. He had been more than a leader ; he had 
been elected provisional president of the so-called German 
Republic. When the cause failed on the battlefield, he fled 
to America, and there, for many years, struggled with voice 
and pen for the freedom of the slaves, just as he had strug- 
gled in Germany for the freedom of his countrymen. The 
seed he helped to sow in Germany, at last bore fruit there, 
and he also lived to see American slavery perish. He was 
a hero in two continents. He had made a fortune in Chi- 
cago and was now educating his children in Zurich. His 
son is now an honored judge of the Superior Court of 
Chicago, a city Brentano's life honored. He was also at 
this time writing virile letters for European journals, mould- 
ing public opinion in our favor as to the Alabama claims. 
We needed his patriotism. Americans will never know the 
great help Brentano was to us, at a time when nine-tenths 
of the foreign press was bitterly against us. I once heard 
a judge on the bench ask Brentano officially if he wrote the 
letters regarding America. "Yes," said Brentano, who was 
trying a case of his own, and was a witness, *T wrote 
them," "Then that should be reckoned against you," said 



CELEBRATED EXILES 25 

the judge, so bitter and unjust was the feeUng abroad con- 
cerning our country, especially among Englishmen travel- 
ing or living on the Continent at this time. A kind word 
for America or Americans was rare. 

Through Brentano's friendship, I secured many notable 
acquaintances. The Revolution of 1848 in Germany was 
led by the brightest spirits of the country. Its failure led 
to death or flight. Many had crossed into the Republic of 
Switzerland and formed here in Zurich a circle of intellec- 
tual exiles. They were authors, musicians, statesmen, dis- 
tinguished university professors. Brentano naturally stood 
high among them all. 

The Ot'sini Cafe. — Around a corner, and not a block away 
from our home, stood a dingy, old building, known as the 
Cafe Orsini. Every afternoon at five, a certain number of 
exiles, and their friends, among them men of culture and 
European fame, met and drank beer at an old oak table in a 
dark corner of the east room. It was the room to the right 
of the entrance hall. Many people frequented the Orsini, 
for it was celebrated for its best Munich beer, and they could 
catch there glimpses sometimes of certain famous men. 
Johannes Scherr, the essayist and historian, called the "Car- 
lyle of Germany," came there, and Brentano, the patriot. 
So did Gottfried Keller, possibly the greatest novelist writ- 
ing the German language, though a Swiss. There was 
Gottfried Kinkel, the beloved German poet, whom our own 
Carl Schurz had rescued from death in a German prison, 
now a great art lecturer at the University. Beust, the head 
of the best school without text-books in the world ; Pick, 
the great lawyer and lecturer, and sometimes Conrad Meyer, 
the first poet of Switzerland. Earlier, Richard Wagner was 
also among these exiles at the Orsini, for he, too, had been 
driven from his country. That was in the days when the 
celebrated Lubke, the art writer, was lecturing at the Zurich 
University, together with Semper, the architect. Often the 
guests around the little table were noted exiles, who, even if 



26 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

pardoned, seldom put a foot in the German fatherland. The 
lamp above the table was always lighted at just five in the 
evening, and the landlord's daughter, in a pretty costume, 
served the beer. It was my good fortune, through Mr. 
Brentano, to join this little German Round Table often, to 
listen to conversations, that, could they be reported now, 
would make a volume worth the reading. 

Almost nightly, in the winter, at least, the little circle 
came together, shook hands, and sat around that table. Each 
paid for his o.wn beer. To offer to "treat" would have been 
an offense. "How many glasses, gentlemen?" the pretty 
waitress would ask. Each told what he had drunk and 
how much cheese or how many hard-boiled eggs he had 
added ; the pretzels were free. "Gute Nacht, meine Herren, 
und baldiges Wiedersehen," called out the little waitress, as 
they would again shake hands and go out into the fog and 
darkness. For years that little waiting-girl lighted the lamp 
over the table, served us the beer, and found a half-franc 
piece under one of the empty glasses. She knew what it 
was for. Had she been a shorthand reporter, she could 
have stopped passing beer long ago, and the Orsini Cafe 
might have been her own. 



-^ CHAPTER III 

1870 

IN THE ORSINI CAFE — GREAT NEWS FROM FRANCE — WHAT 

THE EXILES THINK LETTER FROM GENERAL SHERMAN 

I GET PERMISSION TO GO AND LOOK AT THE WAR — IN 
THE SNOW OF THE JURAS — ARRESTED — THE SURRENDER 
OF THE 80,000 — ZURICH IN THE HANDS OF A MOB — A 
FRIENDLY HINT. 

August 75, 18/0. — At six in the evening of this day I was 
sitting with these other friends in the Httle corner of the 
Orsini, when a boy called out : 

"Great news from France!" 

Yesterday (August 14, 1870) was a day to be forever re- 
membered in history, the day that was to begin the foun- 
dation of the German Empire. Louis Napoleon had de- 
clared war against Prussia. The news came into our little 
corner of the Orsini like a clap of thunder — but the exiles 
around that table went right on drinking beer. Pretty 
soon, grave Johannes Scherr, the historian, spoke : *Tt 
is good-by to Napoleon's crown, that." "They don't know 
Bismarck in Paris yet," said Beust. Beust did not Hke 
Bismarck very much either. "And what can we do?" said 
another. "Nothing," replied Brentano. "Look on. We 
are exiles." They all loved Germany. 

Twenty years they had been waiting in Switzerland, to 
see what would happen. A new war tocsin was now really 
sounding. \^ne empire was dying — great, new Germany 
was about at its birth. Almost that very night the strong- 
est-souled, most dangerous man in modern times was play- 

(27) 



28 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

ing his cards for empire. Even then, in a Httle German 
town, Bismarck was manipulating telegrams, deceiving the 
people, "firing the German heart," deceiving his own Em- 
peror, even. That was diplomacy. A hundred thousand 
men were about to die ! What of it ? Get ready, said the 
man of blood, dig their graves. The hour for Prussian 
vengeance on the name of Napoleon had arrived. "We 
are ready for war, to the last shoe-buckle," wrote the 
French war minister to Louis Napoleon. Bismarck knew 
that to be a lie. His spies and ambassadors in Paris had 
not spent their time simply sipping wine on the boulevards. 
They had been seeing things, and he knew ten times more 
about the shoe-buckles of the French army than the French 
themselves did. 

The next morning (August i6) things sounded strange 
enough to American ears in Zurich. A trumpeter rode 
through every street, blowing his bugle blasts between his 
cries for every German in Zurich to go home and fight for 
fatherland. But the exiles were not included and the 
little meetings in the Orsini went on. Then came a note 
from Napoleon to the Swiss government: "Can you de- 
fend your neutrality?" If not, he would instantly surprise 
Bismarck and Von Moltke by overrunning Switzerland and 
suddenly pour his armies all over South Germany. Then 
the Rhine would be behind him, not in front. 

Switzerland saw her own danger. Permit this once, and 
her name would be wiped from the map of Europe. She 
knew that. A few days' hesitancy and, for her, all would 
have been lost. That night at midnight the Swiss drums 
beat in every valley of the Alps. Twenty-three thousand 
men, with a hundred cannon, were thrown into the fast- 
nesses and passes of the Jura Mountains, on the French 
frontier, inside of three days. That was the answer to Na- 
poleon's note, and it changed the destinies of the war. That 
prompt deed of the Swiss made the German Empire. Had 
the French army got possession of the Alpine passes once, 



CAUSE OF THE WAR 29 

and the Rhine, they would have taken BerHn. The back- 
bone of the German minister at London was what brought 
on the war at last. England had proposed to join France 
in requesting the King of Prussia to promise that no Ger- 
man prince should aspire to the Spanish throne. The 
German minister at St. James indignantly declined to even 
report the British suggestion to his government. Had he 
reported England's wishes, Bismarck, possibly, fearing two 
against him now instead of one, would have given that one 
little promise, and then the war would not have taken place. 

The Americans had the war news by cable almost as soon 
as the Swiss, who were in sound of the guns. 

Shortly I received a little note from General Sherman : 

"Washington, D. C., Aug. 19, 1870. 

''Dear Byers : Consul H. did not hand me your letter 
of May 1st until to-day, else it should have been answered 
earlier. I was very glad to see that your health was im- 
proved by the change of climate and country, and that you 
had entered on your new career with zeal and interest. So 
interesting a country as Switzerland, topographically and 
historically, cannot but prove of inestimable value to you, 
in whatever after career you may engage, and I feel certain 
that you will profit by the opportunity. 

"At this moment we are all on tiptoe of expectation to 
hear of the first events of the war begun between France 
and Prussia. The cause assigned for this war seems to us 
in this distance so trivial that we take it to be a mere pre- 
text, and that the real cause must lie in the deeper feelings 
of the two countries. You are so near and so deeply con- 
cerned in the lines of traffic that must cross the paths of the 
contending armies that you cannot escape the consequences. 
Many Americans will go abroad to see these armies, and as 
much of the war as will be permitted them, and it may be 
that you will see at Zurich some of our soldiers. General 
Sheridan proposes to start at once, and one of my aids, 



30 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Colonel Audenreid, begs to go along. If Sheridan wishes 
it I will let Audenreid go, and I will remind him that you 
are at Zurich, and he may drop in on you, and you can talk 
over events. You will remember him as one of my aids at 
Columbia, S. C. 

"Always wishing you honor and success, I am truly your 
friend, W. T. Sherman." 

With almost unbroken success for the Prussians, the 
dreadful war went on all that autumn. The Swiss were 
neutral and their sympathies were divided, or, if one-sided, 
they were with the Germans ; at least, until that terrible 
Sedan day, when the Emperor himself fell a prisoner. Then 
Bismarck wanted more. It was Paris, and French humilia- 
tion, he wanted. He had tasted blood, and was he never 
to have enough? The war went on into the cold and storm 
of winter. Troops were nearly freezing to death in both 
armies in the east of France, and half the Swiss people 
were changing their minds. France was down, and Bis- 
marck must not play the monster. 

December, i8yo. — I had been a soldier four years in our 
own great war, and was anxious to see European armies on 
a battlefield. The commander of the Swiss troops gave me 
a letter to the leader of the German army next the frontier, 
and got me passes. It was midwinter, and fearfully cold, 
and the snow was two feet to three feet deep when I went 
into the camp of the Swiss, away up in the Jura Mountains. 
None but well-clad, well-fed men could stand guarding the 
passes in such weather. What must the French army be 
doing, not far away, in their worn-out shoes and ragged 
overcoats? The German army lay not far from Mont- 
beliard, when one cold evening I passed the frontier, and on 
foot, in the snow, wended my way to a deserted French 
hamlet. The village just beyond was occupied by a squad- 
ron of German Uhlans. Now all was new to me. Not far 
away that evening I heard the constant thundering of the 



ARRESTED AS A SPY 31 

cannon at Belfort. At the place where I stayed, an attack 
by the French could be expected any moment in the night. 
Shortly I saw captains of Uhlans ride to every house in the 
village and put a chalk-mark on the door, designating what 
companies were to take it for quarters. There was no room 
left anywhere, and one could freeze out of doors, unless 
hugging a camp-fire. An officer of Uhlans took me in and 
shared his bed on the floor of a cabin. We had a cup of 
cofYee, a glass of brandy and some rations. Nobody knew 
that night what would happen out in the snow before morn- 
ing. Next day I could get no horse ; but if I could get to 
General Manteulifel at the next village, I would be all right. 
On I trudged afoot, but the advanced pickets outside the 
village could not read my French papers. They fearing me 
to be a French spy, I was arrested and jogged about very 
unceremoniously. The General was out somewhere with 
the troops, and it was hours before I was released. All this 
time I was kept in a little cafe that was full of Uhlans carous- 
ing and drinking, and acting as if they would like to make 
short work of me. On the General's return, I was marched 
up to headquarters, followed by a number of idle soldiers, 
who anticipated a drumhead court-martial and a little 
shooting. Of course, I was promptly released with an 
apology. But there I was, on foot, in the snow, and not a 
horse to be had, had the King himself wanted it; for the 
French army, 80,000 strong, was making for a battle, or else 
for the Swiss frontier. It was the frontier. That very 
night, Bourbaki, the French commander, shot himself, and 
the whole army, 80,000 strong, tumbled, pell-mell, into Swit- 
zerland, and surrendered. That was January 31st. 

It was a sad-looking army that gave itself up to Switzer- 
land. Their red trousers were worn, dirty and black, their 
shoes were almost gone. Some wore wooden sabots, some 
had their feet wrapped in rags. Their faces and hands were 
black as Africans', from close huddling over scanty camp- 
fires, to keep from freezing. All were discouraged, dis- 



32 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

graced, many boiling over with wrath at their incompetent 
leaders. And these leaders, hundreds of them, were fol- 
lowed by courtesans of Paris, in closed carriages. That was 
a spectacle for the gods ; this host of poor, ragged, freezing 
privates, wading through the snow of the Alps, followed by 
a procession of gilded carriages, filled with debauched 
women, drunken officers and costly wines. 

The surrender there in the snow included the whole army 
of 80,000 men, 284 cannon, 11,000 horses and 8,000 officers' 
swords. 

In a week's time the Swiss had this great army of French- 
men quartered at the different cities. Zurich had 11,000 of 
them. They were a happy lot of men, to be out of a dread- 
ful war, and in the hands of a people who bestowed on them 
every kindness. Many never left Switzerland, but settled 
among their sympathizers and benefactors for the remainder 
of their lives. 

The war went on. Paris, for months, lay besieged and 
starving. Then the end came. 

At Zurich, the friends of Germany now undertook to 
celebrate the close of hostilities. Speeches and a banquet 
were to be had one night at the great Music Hall on the 
lake. Some consuls were invited to take a part, myself 
among the number. I was to be asked to send a telegram 
to our President. At four o'clock of the afternoon a man 
called at my office and whispered in my ear, "Stay away 
from that banquet ; something is to happen." I remained 
at home. That night, just as the toast to the new German 
Emperor was being read, and at a preconcerted signal, 
every window in the vast hall was smashed in. Stones and 
clubs were hurled at the banqueters. A large and excited 
mob of French sympathizers and French prisoners, with 
side-arms, surrounded the building. Many dashed into the 
galleries, waved French flags, struck people down with 
sabers and fired revolvers. The banqueters were in terror 
till, led by the courageous among them, they broke their 







Tower in Old Zurich. 



A FRIENDLY HINT 33 

five hundred chairs into clubs and drove the rioters from 
the hall. A few had been killed, a number injured. All 
the night the mob stayed outside and howled. The police 
fled for their lives. The militia, called out, stood in line, but 
when the order to fire on the mob was given, threw down 
their arms. 

Inside the hall, the banqueters stood with clubs in their 
hands till the grey of morning, waiting the attack. The 
women, alarmed and terrified, were hidden under the tables, 
or in corners. 

Zurich seemed in the throes of a revolution. The bad 
elements of every kind joined in the mob, and the Socialists 
and Anarchists cried out : 'This is the people, striking for 
their rights." 

Ten thousand troops were hurried into Zurich from other 
cantons. Cannon bristled at the street corners, and pla- 
cards warned the people to stay in their houses. A battery 
was posted in the street in front of our door. Climbing up 
on to the terrace by the minster, I saw a terrible mob below, 
and watched a cavalry squadron ride through it with drawn 
sabers. The mob gave way, and the alarm was at an end. 
Murders had been committed, and many men were arrested 
and punished. The man^who had kindly whispered to me 
to keep away from the banquet, fled. He was afterward 
condemned, and is to this day a fugitive in England. 



CHAPTER IV 
1871 

THE PARIS HORRORS — SOME EXCURSIONS WITH LITERARY 
PEOPLE — BEER GARDENS — A CHARACTERISTIC FUNERAL — 
FUNERAL OF A POET'S CHILD — CAROLINE BAUER, THE 
ACTRESS — A POLISH PATRIOT — CELEBRATING THE FOURTH 
OF JULY AT CASTLE RAPPERSCHWYL — THE ST. BERNARD — 
THE MULES AND DOGS — ON A SWISS FARM — FOR BURNING 
CHICAGO. 

June, iSyi. — Horrible news continues to come of the 
atrocities of the ''Communists" in Paris. The most beauti- 
ful city of the world is half burned up by its own children. 
Hundreds of innocent people have been slaughtered. No- 
body here understands wholly what it is these Paris mur- 
derers want. It looks as if all the criminals and their ten 
thousand abettors were simply avenging themselves on civ- 
ilization. 

Europe looks on with horror. The world did not know 
that it contained a whole army of such wretches in one 
single city. Yet New York has just as many, if they were 
let loose. There are men right here in Switzerland, the 
kindliest governed state in the world, who are walking 
around the streets, quietly thanking God for all the inde- 
scribable things at Paris. There was a man in France once 
(Madame Roland's husband), who killed himself, rather 
than live longer in a land so given over to dastards. The 
Paris anarchists will again, and soon enough, have made 
suicide sweeter than living there. That is what they want. 

(34) 



ALPINE SUNSETS 35 

Anarchists would rejoice if all the decent people in the 
world would kill themselves and get out of it. 

This summer of 1871 we made many little foot excur- 
sions with the Brentanos, the Kinkels, or the Scherrs. The 
whole party was always more or less literary. Even Mrs. 
Scherr had written her book, much liked by German house- 
wives. These afternoon walks have been to points along 
the beautiful lake or to some near valley, and often to the 
Uetliberg or to Riissnacht. We always turned up at some 
simple country beer garden, with its quiet tables under 
shady bowers, where the beer and the pretzels were good, 
and the view fine of lake and mountain. 

What delightful times we have had with our cheap lunches 
of black bread, beer and cheese and much talking! We 
walked home by dusk, always stopping at many a vantage 
point, to look in wonder at the sunset and the gorgeous 
glow on the Alps. I never saw these sunsets in the Alps 
without thinking of another world. They seemed to belong 
to something more beautiful, more lasting than our mere 
lives. If I spoke of it, however, Scherr would shrug his 
shoulders and say, 'Teh glaub' es nicht. Wir werden es nur 
hof¥en," and once he added : ''The whole world is but a 
graveyard. Above the door is written The End." Mrs. 
Scherr always smiled and said, "No, it is not so, what he 
says. What is all that grandeur that you see over there in 
the mountains for? Surely not only for a little party like us 
to gaze on, of an afternoon, and then say good-by to, for- 
ever. No, it is not true. I expect to see the beautiful 
mountains, and with these friends, too, a thousand years 
from now." 

Alas ! sooner than we knew, she was to look beyond these 
Alps. A heart trouble, aggravated by the deeper heart trou- 
ble of a mother, through a wayward son, suddenly termi- 
nated her life. Just after leaving our home, one day, where 
she had been calling, she fell dead upon the steps of St. 
Peter's church. 



36 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

I was present at this friend's funeral, conducted in accord- 
ance with German Swiss custom. 

An old woman had carried the funeral notices to the 
friends. They were printed on large, full sheets of paper, 
with black edges an inch wide. The woman, in dehvering 
these messages, was in full black, and carried with her an 
enormous bunch of flowers, apparently a symbol of her 
office. At the appointed hour I found all our male friends 
at the house of mourning. It was designated by a broad, 
black cloth stretched across the front of the building and 
running up the stairway. Here, in a room denuded of all 
carpet and furniture, I found Prof. Scherr, waiting to re- 
ceive the condolence of the invited friends. 

"To the left," said the old messenger woman, who had 
brought the death notices. She stood in the hall, beside 
an urn, into which friends put their black-edged cards. 
Again she held a bunch of flowers. All, as they entered 
the room, turned to "the left," where they silently grasped 
the Professor's hand a moment, and then took their places, 
standing in a line along the four walls of the room. No 
one spoke. There was utter silence. All had tall hats and 
wore black gloves. Those who had not been invited by 
card, remained in the street, to join the procession as it left 
the house. There was not a woman in sight anywhere, save 
the old messenger. Just as the church bells were ringing 
the hour, the messenger called in at the open door : "Gen- 
tlemen, it is three o'clock," and the little procession of friends 
followed the Professor down to the rear of the hearse. 
There had been no ceremony. The body, during the wait- 
ing, lay in a plain coffin in the lower hall. The day before, 
we had called to have a last look at our friend. To us, 
accustomed to American ostentation over the dead, the 
extreme simplicity seemed shocking. She was in a plain, 
white cotton robe. The coffin, or pine box, was not even 
painted. But it was not indiflference nor littleness, this 



A SWISS FUNERAL 37 

simplicity. It was a custom. A hundred years ago in 
Switzerland, people were buried in sheets, and without any 
coffins. Our friend was borne to the chapel in the grave- 
yard, followed by many people, all on foot. There was no 
carriage, save the hearse. There was a short address in the 
chapel, no singing or prayers ; then the body was carried 
out to the grave. Each of us threw a spray of evergreen, 
or a bit of earth, into the grave. When the friends had 
mostly gone, the Professor looked long and sadly into the 
grave, lifted his hat to her who had been his helpmeet, and 
silently and alone walked away. The funeral had been 
characteristic of the country; plain, and simple, and im- 
pressive. To the Swiss, the ostentation and the gorgeous 
casket at American funerals are not only unbecoming, but 
a sacrilege and sin. ''What good can we do the poor dead 
bodies?'' said Kinkel to me one night at the Round Table 
in the Orsini. If you have something to do for a man, do 
it for him while he lives, and not to his poor, senseless dust." 

Kinkel carried out his theory when his beloved daughter 
died. They came first to my wife, to have her select them a 
little black crepe — that was all — and a plain board coffin, 
and some flowers. All her schoolmates must be invited to 
come and stand by her grave. When the coffin containing 
his most loved of earth was lowered, the good, gray-haired 
poet bared his head, stepped to the side of the grave, and, 
with eyes full of tears, made a touching speech. It was 
about the child's goodness in life, its sweetness and sun- 
shine, and its father's and mother's loss. Deep emotion 
filled all present. The- children sang a song, and then 
strewed many flowers upon the grave. 

*T will never see her again," he said to me long days 
afterward. ''Like all beautiful, changing things, she has 
become a part of the beautiful universe. I know her breath 
will be in the perfume of the flowers, and she will linger in 
the summer wind." He spoke in sincerity, but the beauty 



38 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

and poetry of his belief had Httle comfort for us, who also 
had lost, but with an absolute faith that we should find our 
buried one again. 

In one of our little excursions, Professor Kinkel took us 
to see the celebrated actress, Caroline Bauer, now the Coun- 
tess Plater. She and her husband, a rich Pole, who has 
good claims on the throne of Poland, live on an estate over- 
looking Lake Zurich. They received us all with great 
courtesy, and insisted on our having lunch with them on 
the terrace. The whole estate, not large, is surrounded by 
a high stone wall, and inside of that a line of trees and 
hedges higher still. The Countess is seventy, white haired, 
good looking, genial and happy as a girl. She played sev- 
eral airy things on the piano for us, and would have danced 
a jig, I think, had Professor Kinkel but said the word. In 
her heyday of beauty and fame she was the morganatic 
wife of the King of Belgium. But little was thought of 
that, for she showed us his picture hanging in the drawing- 
room, with pride. She and Kinkel talked and laughed 
much about things that were Greek to us. When we were 
leaving, the white-haired old beauty followed the white- 
haired old poet out to the garden gate, and gave him a good- 
by kiss. It was, in fact, a pretty and touching scene. The 
Count owns the great Castle of Rapperschwyl at the end 
of the lake. It contains a Polish museum. One Fourth of 
July, later, he invited all the Americans to celebrate the day 
there, and sent a steamer, with music and flags, to carry us 
up to his banquet. The flags of lost Poland were inter- 
twined with the flags of the United States. 

August, i8yi. — Next to Westminster Abbey, in London, 
I have always wanted to see the St. Bernard pass, with its 
hospice and its dogs. At Martigny, the. other day, my wife 
and I hired a man and a mule to help us up the pass that 
gave Bonaparte so much trouble. The man's name was 
'"Christ." He often addressed the mule as "you diable." 



THE ST. BERNARD 39 

We walked, rode and climbed past the most poverty-stricken 
villages in the Dranse valley I ever saw in my life. This 
should be called the valley of human wretchedness. We 
reached the famous stone hospice on the top of the pass 
lat(.' at night, in a storm of sleet, and tired to death. We 
had overtaken a German student on the way, and our poor 
mule had to drag or carry four of us up the worst part of 
the pass. The thunderstorm also made us overdo ourselves. 
My wife sat on the saddle ; the student hung to the mule's 
tail ; I hung to one stirrup, and Christ to the other. I am 
glad it was dark, for the scene was not heroic, like that of 
Napoleon leading his army over the mountains. 

The monks met us at the hospice entrance, and gave us 
places to rest for an hour. To me, who was utterly ex- 
hausted and used up, they gave drams of good, hot whisky. 

An hour later they took us down to the Refectory, where 
we had a substantial supper of hot soup, bread, potatoes, 
omelets, prunes, and also wine. A fire blazed in the im- 
mense fireplace, for it is chilly and cold up here even in 
August. A wind was now blowing outside, and it was very 
dark. We were glad to sit around the fire with some of 
the monks and tell them strange things about the country 
we came from. One of them spoke English, a few of them 
German. 

These zealous monks live up in this inhospitable pass 
solely to rescue and aid lost travelers. Thousands of poor 
men, seeking labor in better climates, walk over this pass 
to Italy every season. Many lose their way and are hunted 
up by the noble St. Bernard dogs ; many freeze to death, 
and the monks have piled their unidentified bodies up out 
there in the stone dead-house. There is not enough soil on 
this rocky height for a grave. And the air is so rarefied 
that graves are not needed ; the dead simply dry away at 
last, or, in their half-frozen condition, remain like unem- 
balmed mummies. The high air is ruinous to health, and 



40 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

the monks after a few short years go down into the Rhone 
valley to die, while others for another little space take their 
places. 

The next morning I climbed through an open window 
into the dead-house. The dead found on the pass during 
twenty years either lay on the floor or stood against the 
wall. It was a hideous spectacle, and yet numerous of the 
bodies were lifelike in every feature. They were placed 
in there just as they were found. All have the clothes on 
they wore when they were lost. Many are in the same 
attitude of despair and agony they had when the storm 
closed them in its icy embrace. I saw a man with form 
bent and arms extended as if groping to find his way. 
A dead woman sat in the corner with her frozen child in 
her arms. She has been there these dozen years. Some 
of the faces could yet be recognized had any friend in the 
world come to look at them. 

After breakfast we had a play with a number of the noble 
dogs that have saved human lives on this pass, time and 
again. They were very large, mostly tawny colored, ex- 
tremely intelligent and kind. 

The devoted lives of these monks, and these dogs, is 
something pathetically noble. 

A pretty chapel or church is built on to the hospice, and 
in there one sees a fine marble statue of Marshal Saxe, the 
hero of Marengo, put there by the order of Napoleon, 

There are few large farms in Switzerland. Yet, we stayed 
last week at one that would do credit in size even to the 
United States — a couple of hundred acres, mostly given up 
to grass and stock ; every foot as carefully looked after as if 
it were a gentleman's lawn in London. The owner is what 
they call a rich Bauer. He is a romantic-looking character, 
the red-cheeked, burly man, as he goes about among his 
hired people in the picturesque costume of other days. His 




Gamhetta.—Pa^e 43. 



FOR BURNING CHICAGO 41 

wife and daughter also dress in unique costume. They all 
look very striking on the green meadows away up here on 
a mountain side, half as high as the Rigi. All this peasant's 
immediate ancestors were born in this old stone house, 
and, though he has grown rich here, his life is unchanged 
from theirs. There are many long, round-paned windows 
to the rooms, through which the sun pours in and warms 
the bright-colored flowers with which the window shelves 
are filled. An old eight-day clock of his grandfather's 
stands in the corner counting the seconds for these two hun- 
dred years. There is not a carpet or a table cloth in the 
house, but in their stead are old chests, wardrobes and 
chairs of rare carving, and queer pewter mugs of another 
age are on the walls. 

Their lives are very simple. At dinner they gather 
around an uncovered pine table, and the family dip soup 
from the same big bowl. They have an abundance of sour 
wine, black bread, and such butter, cheese and milk as 
would make an epicure glad. 

The high mountain air about them is bracing ; they seem 
happy and healthful, and, more than most peasants, enjoy 
the grand scene of Alps and lakes around them. 

They set a little side table for us in another room, where 
we had all the good things a farm affords for two francs a 
day. Over on the Rigi, just across the lake from us, the 
tourists and the fashionables are paying ten to twenty francs 
for food not so wholesome. 

October p, 18/1. — ''Chicago has burned to the ground and 
all your houses are burned with it," was the telegram that 
came to me for Brentano three nights ago. I went to his 
house at midnight, but he was gone to Freiburg. When he 
came back, he simply telegraphed, ''Commence to rebuild 
at once." The Americanism of the order set all his Swiss 
friends to talking. "Had Chicago burned up in Europe," 
they said, "we would have spent a year mourning over it. 



42 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Over there they simply rebuild the same day and say noth- 
ing." 

I commenced a subscription list to help the unfortunate 
of Chicago, two weeks ago. I have raised 60,000 francs in 
sums as low as two cents each. I think no town of its 
population in Europe has given so liberally. To-morrow 
the cash goes on. 



CHAPTER V 
1872 

LOUIS BLANC, THE STATESMAN — HIS NOVEL COURTSHIP — 
HIS APPEARANCE — INVITES US TO PARIS — JUST MISS VIC- 
TOR HUGO — HIS SPEECH AT MADAME BLANC'S GRAVE — 
LETTER FROM LOUIS BLANC — ALABAMA ARBITRATORS — 
SEE GAMBETTA AND JULES FAVRE. 

May p, i8y2. — On this day Louis Blanc, the French 
statesman and historian, called. It was to thank rae for a 
favor I had done on a time for his nephew, but the visit 
resulted in a friendship that lasted till his death, ten years 
later. 

Louis Blanc had been to the old French Republic (1848) 
what Brentano had been to the revolution of South Ger- 
many. At one time he was the most powerful member of 
the French Assembly. His writings, more than all things 
else, brought about the revolution that for a time made him 
President. In this 1872, he is again in the Assembly of a 
new republic. 

While he stayed at Zurich, we came to know his friend, 
the vivacious English writer and traveler, Hepworth Dixon. 
We met often. Once Louis Blanc gave us all a dinner in 
the Neptun, and Dixon kept the table in a roar, telling of 
his ridiculous experiences in American overland coaches, in 
Texas and elsewhere. Of Texas, he had views alarmingly 
like those of Sheridan. If he owned hell and Texas, he 
certainly would rent out Texas and live in hell. ''And do 
you tell us that is manners down South in the United 

v43) 



44 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

States?" queried Mr. Louis Blanc, in the naivest manner. 
"Indeed I do ; surely, surely," said the traveler, glancing at 
Mrs. Blanc, ''I saw it a hundred times. Pistols, bowie- 
knives and swearing. Nothing else in Texas." The kin^ 
Frenchman believed it all, for he believed all men honest a5 
himself; only at the close of the dinner did Mr. Dixon let 
him know that part of his talk was good-natured cham- 
pagne chaff. 

Louis Blanc was the smallest big man I ever saw. He 
was only five feet high. His head was big enough for 
Alexander the Great. He was only fifty-nine years old 
now, but it seemed to me his life and actions went back to 
the Revolution. His hair was long and black and straight 
as an Indian's. He had no beard. His face was rosy as a 
girl's. His little hands were white as his white cravat ; his 
feet were like a boy's ; his eyes brown, large, and full of 
kindness ; his voice sweet as a woman's. He dressed in full 
black broadcloth and wore a tall silk hat. He looked, when 
walking in the street, like a rosy-faced boy in man's clothes. 

His little stature and apparent innocence of half that was 
going on about him, kept Madame Blanc in a constant 
worry for fear he would be run over by passing wagons 
when we were out walking together. ''Now run over here 
quick," she would say to him at a crossing. ''Do, my dear, 
be careful. See the horses coming." Out of doors, or on our 
little excursions to the mountains, he was perpetually and 
literally under her wing. She knew the treasure she had 
in him. 

I constantly thought of the story of his past ; for was not 
this little, low-voiced man, walking with us, he who had 
written "The Ten Years" that had helped destroy Louis 
Philippe; was not this the same voice that had enchained 
assemblies, and led France? 

Once in a little log schoolhouse in the backwoods of the 
West, where, as a young fellow, I was teaching, I had read 
some of his books. Poor as I was, I would have given a 



LOUIS BLANC 45 

month's salary then, to have taken Louis Blanc by the 
hand. How little I dreamed that some day I should not 
only take him by the hand, but have his warm friendship. 

Louis Blanc's head was all there was to him — that and a 
great heart. 

His marriage to Madame Blanc was a marvel. They 
met in London. She was German and could speak no 
French. He was French and could speak no German. He 
courted her in broken English ; and he did well, for a better 
woman never lived. 

Victor Hugo, standing at her grave years' later, pro- 
nounced one of his noblest eulogies to womanhood. It 
was an outburst of remembered oratory. 

We were glad of the friendship of such a man as Louis 
Blanc. He wrote me many letters and invited us to Paris, 
where we spent some delightful days. His brother Charles 
was the director of Fine Arts and Theaters there. We had 
invitations to the best operas and plays. One night I had 
the pleasure of hearing Gounod lead the Grand Opera 
House orchestra in his own "Faust." Monsieur Blanc also 
took us out to see the National Assembly sitting at Ver- 
sailles, where he was a senator. By good luck we saw and 
heard Gambetta and Jules Favre. There was no disorder 
that day, at least, and the speaking was moderate in tone. 
It was no noisier than our own senate. Louis Blanc also 
spoke a few words in a quiet way. He wished them to 
move the Assembly into Paris. *Tt is all nonsense," he 
said to me, ''this pretense of fearing a Paris mob. 'Do 
right,' I might have said to them, 'and the mob will let you 
alone. Do wrong, and — well, it is not far from Paris to 
Versailles, and there was a time when a mob could escort 
a king even, from the one place to the other.' " He meant 
Louis XVI. and his queen, whom the mob led from this 
same palace to the Paris scaffold. 

That evening we went late to dinner. The Blanc's lived 
on an upper floor of house No. 96, on the Rue du Rivoli. 



46 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

It was rather far. "But why didn't you come earHer"? 
said Mrs. Blanc, meeting us at the door. ''You can't guess 
who was here." It was Victor Hugo. How sorry we 
were to have missed the opportunity of seeing the most 
famous man in France. 

It happened later that I was in Paris the day after Victor 
Hugo's funeral. Everybody said it was like the funeral of 
a great king. I went up to the "Arc de Triomphe." The 
great monument built by Napoleon, in his own honor, was 
covered with wreaths in honor of Victor Hugo. Which 
man, I thought, does France, in her inmost heart, revere 
the most — the poet, or the conqueror? 

I do not recall much that Louis Blanc said to me that 
first time in Paris, but something he said in reply to some 
words of Mr. Dixon's, at the banquet, I wrote down. Dixon 
was chaffmg, in an exaggerated way, about the patriot's 
idea of liberty. "Ah!" replied Louis Blanc, quoting from 
another Frenchman, "there is but one thing only, which 
dreads not comparison with Glory ; that is Liberty." 

The nephew whom I had obliged, and through whom our 
friendship with the statesman came about, fell ill in Paris, 
and Louis Blanc wrote me this : 

"Paris, 96 Rue du RivoH, Dec. 21, 1871. 
"Dear Sir : It grieves me to the very heart to have to 
say that my nephew is most dangerously ill. He has now 
been in bed for about a month, and his precarious state 
keeps both my poor wife and myself in a state of unspeak- 
able anxiety. This domestic affliction, added to the neces- 
sity I am under to spend the whole of my time at Versailles, 
where the Assembly is now residing and threatens to settle, 
has as yet prevented me from seeing Mr. Washburne. But 
I have not lost sight of my promise, which I hope I shall be 
able to fulfill before long. Many thanks for the photo- 
graphs. That of Mrs. Byers is very far, indeed, from doing 
her justice. We wish we had a better one, I will write to 



THE ALABAMA CLAIMS 47 

you soon. In the meantime, accept, my dear sir, our most 
cordial thanks for the kindness you and your dear wife have 
shown to our nephew and to ourselves. With my wife's 
best regards to Mrs. Byers and yourself, I remain, very 
truly yours, Louis Blanc." 

The youth got well, but he did not take much to the 
Zurich schools after all. He had gone home again, and the 
uncle decided on letting him go to sea. 

"Paris, 96 Rue du Rivoli, July 14, 1872. 

"My Dear Sir : Many thanks for your very kind letter. 
Our nephew is quite recovered, and more than ever deter- 
mined to be a sailor; so much so, that we have made up 
our minds to let him go as a midshipman. He will prob- 
ably start in a month or two. 

"My wife and myself speak often of you both and of the 
friendly reception we met at your hands. May we indulge 
the hope of returning it soon, on your visit to Paris ? 

"I would have been glad to make General Sherman's ac- 
quaintance, but, unfortunately, I found no opportunity to 
do so. 

"Mrs. Louis Blanc and nephew unite with me in kindest 
regards to Mrs. Byers and yourself. Most sincerely yours, 

"Louis Blanc." 

September, 18/2. — All this past summer the international 
arbitrators at Geneva have been trying to settle our diffi- 
culty with England over the Alabama pirate business. Our 
Mr. Evarts has won great honor in his management of our 
side of the matter. Still we have virtually lost the case. A 
few days ago, the 14th, the treaty was signed. True, it 
gives us fifteen millions, but we set out with claiming two 
hundred and fifty millions. What a bagatelle to have to 
accept after that. The testimony really tends to show that 
the Rebels never hurt the North with their cruisers a hun- 



48 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

dredth part as much as everybody supposed they had. It 
was only a Httle Captain Kidd sea robbery after all. 

It is something, however, to make England come to time, 
if only a little, for only the other day a London paper de- 
clared England will never pay the Yankees a dollar, no 
matter what the arbitrators say. We shall see. 




Buerglen, Tell's Birthplace.— i^/^^^i- 50 and igi. 



CHAPTER VI 
1872 

WILLIAM TELL — THE RIGI IN THE GOOD OLD TIMES — PILA- 
TUS — ROSE BUSHES FOR FUEL. 

We spent this summer of 1872 at beautiful Bocken, an 
old castle-like chateau, sitting high above the lake, ten miles 
out from the city. It was once the home of the Zurich 
burgomasters, at the time when they exercised the author- 
ity of petty kings. The scene from Bocken is very grand. 
The chateau, with its big hall of knights, its old oak-paneled 
dining-room, its brick-paved corridors and leaded, round- 
paned windows, is very interesting. Paid 600 francs for 
the use of rooms all summer, and reserved the right to 
return other summers. The days were fair, and it seemed 
to me I had never seen so many clear, moonlight nights. 
The lake, shining in the clear moonlight, lay 1,000 feet be- 
low us, and, at times in the night, we could even faintly see 
the snow-covered mountains of Glarus. It was a delightful 
summer at Bocken, and our joy was doubled by the coming 
of our firstborn. 

More than one of this summer's excursions was to the 
scene of the Tell legends on Lake Luzern. I knew the leg- 
ends were already being doubted, even by some of the Swiss, 
but I hoped, by diligent searching among certain half-for- 
gotten archives in the old arsenal at Altorf,to find something 
new. I was not wholly disappointed ; I saw a musty document 
there that told of the building of the chapel to Tell on the 
"Axenstrasse." That was in 1388, only thirty-one years after 

(49) 



50 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

TeWs death. The document gave the amount of wages paid 
to hands, the amount of wine furnished the workmen, and a 
statement that one hundred and fourteen persons who had 
known Tell were present at the dedication. On the sup- 
posed spot of Tell's birth, another stone chapel was erected 
in 1522. There is also in this museum a copy of a procla- 
mation of four hundred and ninety-four years ago, by the 
Council of Uri, ordering all good Christians and patriots to 
make yearly pilgrimages to Burglen, because it was the 
birthplace of William Tell. This document was discovered 
in 1759, but was burned up in a fire at Altorf, about 1779. 
The copy, however, is regarded as genuine. The question 
arises, why did a poor little village community ever go to 
the expense of building these chapels, if they had no certain 
knowledge of the existence of their hero, and why were the 
citizens making these excursions to Tell's birthplace at that 
early time ? 

In this old arsenal at Altorf are preserved the battle flags 
borne by the Swiss at Morgarten in 131 5, only eight years 
after the death of Tell. The genuineness of these flags his- 
torians have not doubted. Neither is the old Swiss story of 
that battle in dispute. If the ancient Swiss could know of 
this battle, and save their flags, why should they not also 
know the facts as to Tell, at the time they were building 
chapels to him ? If they do not, these chapels remain as 
monuments to the utter foolishness of a people. 

The tradition as to his shooting an apple from his boy's 
head is of no earthly consequence ; true or untrue, it has no 
more to do with the Swiss patriot's having served his coun- 
try than the story of the cherry tree has to do with the 
patriotism of Washington. Tyrants, compelling enemies to 
tests of archery under great risks, were nothing uncommon 
in even other lands than Switzerland, and even this little 
incident in Tell's life may have been true. For myself, I 
am satisfied that a patriot named William Tell existed, and 
that his hot-headed love of freedom, and his recklessness, 



WILLIAM TELL 51 

precipitated a revolution in the Alps. In these later days 
his killing even a tyrant would probably brand him as a 
common freak or an assassin. Time and history mollify 
many things. ^ 

The chapel at the Axenstrasse was about to fall into the 
lake, while I was in Switzerland. Its restoration was de- 
cided on. Knowing that I had interested myself in the Tell 
traditions, and at my request, the authorities allowed me to 
take away the stone step in front of the old altar, to place 
in the Washington monument. I secured official testimony 
as to the block, had a proper inscription put on it, and sent 
it to Washington as a souvenir of Switzerland's greatest 
tradition. It is now in the Smithsonian Institution, being 
regarded too valuable a relic to hide away in the monument. 

Now that we could speak the language, we made delight- 
ful excursions to the mountains. I had determined to write 
a book on Switzerland,* and regarded it necessary to see, 
•not only the Alps, but Alpine village life, and everything 
characteristic of the country. The result was that we went 
on foot to almost every valley and village, and climbed not 
a few of the famous mountains. I now became a member 
of the Alpine Club. The Rigi we climbed oftenest of all. 
There was no such thing as riding up, no easy railway car- 
riages, then. People climbed mountains on foot, and the 
names burned on our Alpine stocks had a meaning. Many 
and many a Saturday noon we took the train at Luzern, 
climbed up the Rigi through the woods alone, on the Arth 
side, and stayed there till Monday morning. We usually 
got to the top in three hours. Daylight of Sunday saw us 
out on the high plateau, looking at that great sight, the ris- 
ing of the sun in the Alps. 

Living among the mountains was glorious then, and 
cheap. Many a time, in those days, we have had lodgings 
and meals at four francs a day, at the Rigi Stafifell, where 

•"Switzerland and the Swiss." 



52 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

once the poet Wordsworth tarried. And at Michaels 
Kreutz, a height near by, two and one-half francs for pen- 
sion was our usual expense. We traveled much in second- 
class cars. Everybody did this, and we were in the mode. 
Often when I was alone in the mountains, I went third-class 
even, and was as well ofif for sightseeing as I would have 
been in a Pullman palace car. 

The Alpine views from the Rigi in good weather are 
almost beyond description. One must see them to realize 
their splendor. Chains of snow mountains are in the dis- 
tance, and thirteen blue lakes shining at the Rigi's foot. It 
is only six thousand feet high, but unsurpassed as a point 
for seeing Swiss scenery. 

Sometimes I went up Pilatus alone. It is higher than 
the Rigi, and near by. The climb was five hours, and I 
always slept in the little Senn hut, with the cowboys. The 
cattle, with their tinkling bells, occupied half the stone 
building. Cool autumn nights I have sat there till mid- 
night, talking with the cowboys, before a big fire made of 
dried Alpine rose bushes. There were simply acres of roses 
on Pilatus then, and the Senns were glad to get rid of the 
shrubs by burning them. I never felt in such perfect health 
in my life, as in the bracing air on Pilatus Mountain, and 
the fact that tourists never knew the way up there made 
life among the goats and the roses immensely enjoyable. 
For years, ever since my imprisonment in the South, I had 
suffered horrors with headaches and migraine. These fre- 
quent stays in the air of the higher Alps were slowly curing 
them. 



CHAPTER VII 
1872 

GENERAL SHERMAN VISITS US AT ZURICH — LETTERS FROM 
HIM — SWISS OFFICERS ENTERTAIN HIM — HIS LAKE EX- 
CURSION — HE EXPLAINS HIS GREATEST CAMPAIGN TO 
THEM — HE IS ENTERTAINED AT THE SWISS CAPITAL — 
LETTER FROM GENERAL DUFOUR. 

August, 1872. — General Sherman had written me late in 
the previous Autumn of his intention to visit Europe. Ad- 
miral Alden was appointed to the command of our squadron 
at Villa Franca, and invited the General to sail with him in 
his flagship, the "Wabash." They left on Nov. 11, 1871. 
In his note he had said, "I am certainly hoping to arrange 
my route so as to pay you a visit." This rejoiced us greatly. 
I heard nothing more till January i6th, when he sent me 
another little note from Marseilles : 

"Marseilles, France, Jan. 14, 1872. 
"Dear Byers : You will have seen in the public journals 
that I am adrift. Of course, during my travels I intend to 
come to Zurich to see you, but the time when is uncertain. 
Now the season is not favorable, and I find it to my interest 
to stay near the Mediterranean till spring. I left my ship 
at Gibraltar near a month ago. Have been through Spain 
and the south of France, and am now on my way to rejoin 
the ship at Nice. We expect to spend all of February in 
Italy, March in Egypt and the East, April in Prussia, and 
I expect to swing round by Dresden, Vienna and Munich 

(53) 



64 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

to Zurich in May. I hope then to find you in good heahh. 
Should you have occasion to write me, a letter to the care of 
the United States Consul at Nice will be forwarded. With 
great respect, your friend, W. T. Sherman." 

In a month he wrote again, this time from Italy. On 
Feb. 8th I had written him of an intended military demon- 
stration on the part of the authorities, in his honor, when 
he should come to Zurich. This he was adverse to, as his 
note indicates : 

"Naples, Feb. 28, 1872. 
"Dear Byers: I have received yours of Feb. 8th, and 
avail myself of about the last chance to write in reply. It 
will be some time before we can possibly approach Zurich 
from the direction of Vienna, and I suppose by that time I 
will be pretty well used up; yet, if I can do anything to 
please you, will do my best. Please say to the gentlemen 
of Zurich that when I reach Zurich, the less display of even 
a volunteer or militia force, the better ; but I vv^ill leave it to 
your own good sense to do what is best for them, and for 
me. Maybe it would be better to postpone all preliminaries 
till you hear from me at Vienna. We embark to-morrow 
for Malta and Alexandria, Egypt, and it will be some time 
before we turn up again in the direction of Moscow and St. 
Petersburg. Our aim is to cross the Caucasus to the Cas- 
pian, to Astrachan by the Volga, to Nishni, and so on to 
Moscow ; so, you see, I have a good, long journey yet be- 
fore me. Meantime, I hope you will continue well. As 
ever, your friend, W. T. Sherman." 

Again there was a silence till spring. General Sherman 
did not carry a newspaper reporter around with him, to 
report his journeys and his doings. He was traveling as a 
private gentleman, seeing, and not being seen. At least, 
this was what lie wished. He had gone to the far East, had 



GENERAL SHERMAN 55 

come back to Constantinople and crossed the Caucasus 
Mountains. In May he wrote again from St. Petersburg : 

"St. Petersburg, May 30, 1872. 
"Dear Byers : My party is now reduced to myself and 
Colonel Audenried, Fred Grant having gone to Copenhagen 
to see his aunt, Mrs. Cramer, who is now on the point of 
going to America. I don't now know whether Grant will 
rejoin me at Vienna or go direct to Paris, to see his sister 
Nellie, and await us there. At all events, Audenried and I 
start at noon to-day for Warsaw, then Berlin, Dresden, 
Vienna, etc., to Zurich, where we ought to arrive between 
the 15th and 20th of June. I prefer much not to be com- 
plicated with private engagements or displays of any kind, 
for it takes all my time to see the country, and it is awfully 
tiresome to be engaged day and night in receiving and 
returning calls. I hope you will appreciate this, and have 
no preparations made till we arrive, and then if I can do 
you any service by seeing your friends, I will do my best. 
Truly your friend, W. T. Sherman." 

Early in August he and Colonel Audenried were with us 
in Zurich. No public demonstration took place on his 
arrival. It was as he had wished. We took- him out to 
Bocken, our home on the lake, and had a few delightful 
days with him there. 

I recall that on the first day we had dinner spread under- 
neath the trees, out on the terrace of Bocken. The blue 
lake lay a thousand feet below us, the white mountains 
shone in the distance, behind us were high hills covered 
with evergreen forests. About the chateau were bright 
meadows and rich vineyards. There is scarcely a scene 
more beautiful in this world. Yet, I was surprised how 
little it afifected him. In the presence of such grandeur, he 
seemed at that moment unimpressionable. He was a man of 
moods. I called his attention to the glorious view. "Not 



66 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

more beautiful," he said at last, "than the lakes near Madi- 
son. I think of them when I see this. I like American 
scenery better than any of it. It is the real, native thing in 
our country. Man has done nothing there. Here, in Eu- 
rope, so much is artificial." Yet there was nothing artificial 
around him here; unless it were the much-vaunted, little, 
red, wooden-looking Swiss strawberries on the table. He 
wondered how we could adopt the Swiss way of pouring 
wine on them, instead of cream and sugar. The big cake in 
the center of the table was decorated with preserved fruits. 
"How singular that is, isn't it?" he said ; "real Dutch." But 
he liked it for all that. He liked, too, our simple table, 
though an American dish or two had been prepared in his 
honor ; and he had a relish for good wine, but was moderate 
in its use. When we had the champagne, I proposed his 
health. "No," said he, gallantly, rising to his feet, "we 
drink the health of Mrs. Byers. "Both together then," I 
said. 

He was happy when I gave him a cigar. The scene 
began to have some interest for him. It was finer than 
Madison after all. I think the dinner increased his appre- 
ciation. The practical side of what he saw was always in 
his mind. He measured the near hills with his eye and 
guessed their height. "North must be right over there," 
he said, pointing, though the sun was not shining. The 
snow mountains were twenty miles away — not thirty, as we 
had stated. He was sure he "never missed on distances." 
But he did this time. He climbed up to the winemill in the 
barn loft, examined the presses below, took hold of the 
queer scythes of the mowers, and undertook to describe an 
American mowing machine to a peasant, who did not un- 
derstand a word of English. In an hour or so he was ac- 
quainted with everything practical about the place. 

At supper he ridiculed the American ways of traveling 
abroad. " Tourists' is the right word for them," he said. 
"They are not observing travelers at all. Their time and 



CADETS MEET THE GENERAL 57 

money is thrown away." He told of an American girl who 
rode one hundred miles in a railroad car with him, through 
the most interesting part of Spain, and read a yellow-backed 
novel all the way. **I never go to a new place, but I know 
all about it," he said ; "its topography, geography, history. 
A thousand times my habit of observing has afterward 
been of use to me." He told how, when he was a young 
lieutenant in the army, stationed in Georgia, his comrades 
spent their leisure Sundays reading novels, card playing, or 
sleeping, while he himself went riding or walking every- 
where, exploring every creek, valley, hill, mountain, in the 
neighborhood. ''Twenty years later the thing that most helped 
me to win battles in Georgia was my perfect knowledge of the 
country, picked up zvhcn I zvas there as a boy. I knew more 
of Georgia than the rebels themselves did." He insisted on 
our acqairing a habit of observing everything, learning 
everything possible. ''You don't know how soon you will 
have use for the seemingly useless thing that you can pick 
up by mere habit." He related how, when he captured a 
train and telegraph station down South once — [It happened 
that I had been present on the occasion] — he called for 
some one among the privates to try to take ofif messages. 
His own operator was not at hand. A young soldier, who 
had once picked up a little telegraphing as an amusement, 
stepped forward and took a rebel message from the wire 
that turned out to contain information of vast importance 
to the whole army. 

August 4. — Yesterday, to make him more comfortable, 
Mrs. B. had had a bed placed for the General in our little 
front salon. "I won't have it there at all," he said. ''There 
shall be no trouble for me. Back it goes into the bedroom. 
Give me a cot in the hall — that's what soldiers like." The 
bed went back. 

At noon, a very swell company of cadets came up from 
Horgen to do the General a little honor. I happened to be 
away, and, as the captain could speak no English, and the 



58 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

General no German, a funny scene followed. Tbey drew 
up in line and saluted, and the General saluted in return. 
Then he made a good-natured, funny, little speech in Eng- 
lish. They all laughed, and seemed to think it good, gave 
him a cheer, fired their guns and went back to the lake. 
The captain afterward asked me what it was the General 
said. I told him that he praised their company as being 
one of the nicest he ever saw, and said if they would stack 
guns and come to the house, they should drink to his health 
in some good champagne. *'Mein Gott! and did he say 
that,'' said the captain ; "and we, big fools, just walked off 
and missed it all." 

General Sherman's memory for names, places and inci- 
dents was certainly phenomenal. He had never been in 
Russia before, yet, in telling us of his delightful trip over 
the Caucasus Mountains, he recalled all the nearly unpro- 
nounceable names of villages and mountains along his route. 
He had seen and investigated everything along his way, and 
talked with half the people he met, whether they understood 
him or not. He was so kindly in his ways, so sincere, no 
one ever took his addressing him amiss. I could not help 
at times comparing him in my mind with what I had read 
of the Duke of Wellington. 

Colonel Audenried amused us not a little, by telling, 
confidentially, at the supper table, of the great excursion the 
General and his party had tendered them by the Sultan on 
the Black Sea. The Sultan's magnificent private yacht, 
manned by sailors in gilt jackets, carried them everywhere. 
Wines and lunches and dinners were only to command. It 
was a beautiful, oriental time; but, when they got back, a 
bill of $600, I think, was presented to the General, on a 
silver platter. He gracefully paid it, and said nothing. 

August 5. — To-day there was a flowing of champagne, in 
fact. The army officers, at Zurich and in neighboring 
towns, chartered a steamer and arranged for a banquet in 
the General's honor at the Castle of Rapperschwyl, at the 



BANQUET TO SHERMAN 59 

upper end of the lake. The day was beautiful, and it was a 
fair sight, as the steamer, decorated with Swiss and Amer- 
ican flags, filled with ofTficers in gay uniforms, and with 
music playing, turned into Horgen, the landing nearest to 
Bocken. The villagers fired cannon, waved flags and 
cheered, as General Sherman, in full American uniform, 
went down from Bocken to the landing. A naturalized 
Swiss-American kept a restaurant near to the landing. He 
had had an enormous American flag especially made, to 
hang out as the General went past his place to the steamer. 
The General took ofif his hat to it, called a pleasant word to 
the owner of the flag, and the man was happy. Years after- 
ward he kept that flag as the one the great General had 
greeted. He hung it out only on great occasions. I doubt 
not it will be wrapped about him at his grave. How easy 
it is for the great to make men happy. 

The excursion on the lake, and the banquet, were delight- 
ful. In the shadow of the old castle, the talk and the toasts 
were about two Republics. The name of William Tell was 
being spoken with the name of Washington. The Swiss 
Dufour and the American Sherman were linked together, 
as the Swiss officers touched glasses. It is an international 
episode like this that helps, more than all the tricky diplo- 
macy of the world, to give peoples a kind understanding of 
each other. 

Sherman was amazed to find out that these officers, all 
the preceding winter, had (at their officers' school) been 
studying his campaigns. Every move about Kenesaw 
Mountain, every day of his assaults on Atlanta, were as 
familiar to these men as to members of his own stafif. I 
never in my life saw a more interesting scene than when, 
under an awning, on the deck of the steamer, these Swiss 
officers stood around him, while, with a big military map 
before him, he traced for them the route of the ''March to 
the Sea." It was a picture for an artist. It was as if Napo- 
leon had described to a listening group of American officers. 



60 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

the campaign of Italy. All were greatly impressed with the 
great simplicity of his talk, his kindness of manner, as with 
pencil he marked for them each interesting spot of the cam- 
paign. It was a great thing to have the most famous march 
of modern times explained to them in so friendly a way, by 
the commander himself. 

"I will never forget this day," said more than one ofificer 
to me, as we left the steamer that evening. 

They drew lots for the possession of the map with the 
General's pencil marks, and it fell to Colonel Schindler, the 
Consul for Austria. "It shall be an heirloom forever in my 
family," said the Colonel to me one evening at his tea table. 

August 6, 18/2. — In the evening, my wife and I gave a 
reception to General Sherman at the rooms of the Bellevue 
hotel in the city. It was attended by our personal friends, 
by Americans then in the city, by a number of officers and 
by many prominent people. The General was in full uni- 
form. Numbers spoke English with him, and with others 
he spoke tolerable French, that he had learned, probably at 
West Point. 

On the next day it rained, but he was off for the St. Gott- 
hard pass. We protested against his starting in bad 
weather. ''Weather never holds me back from a journey," 
he said. "If it is raining when I am starting, it is almost 
sure to clear up on the way, and when I most need it." 

We were again out at Bocken. He had changed his 
mind about the scene. It was the finest view he ever saw. 
On leaving, he gave my wife an affectionate kiss, and said, 
"May God take care of you." It was to be years before 
she would see him again. 

August 20. — Horace Rublee, our minister at Bern, gave 
a public reception to General Sherman at the capital the 
other night. I was invited to attend. It was a rather 
elaborate afifair, in the Bernerhof. Outside a band came 
and serenaded the General, playing some American airs 



AT THE SWISS CAPITAL 61 

very poorly. The General was in full uniform. Most of 
the prominent people of Bern and many public officials 
were present. The General, I noticed, talked quite a little 
French with some of the ladies. Nothing of note occurred 
at this reception, but there was a fine time, and the General 
enjoyed himself. 

The next day was spent in seeing the sights of the city. 
At noon I saw a bit of Sherman's well-known gallantry for 
women. Numbers of us, mostly young men, were standing 
with him in the Bernerhof corridor. An elderly lady, alone, 
passed us and started up the grand stairway. She was half 
way up when Sherman's eye caught her. Instantly he 
sprang up the steps and offering his arm escorted her to her 
room. The rest of us looked on a little abashed that we 
had not thought to do this. 

While in Switzerland the General had met the famous old 
Dufour, the Wellington of the Swiss army, who had so 
promptly put down the Rebellion of 1847. With his 100,000 
men and his 300 cannon he did more in a month than most 
generals do in a year. General Sherman sent him, through 
me, a map of his own campaigns. It gratified the old Swiss 
warrior greatly and elicited the following reply to me : 

''Geneve, 23rd Janv., 1873. 

"Monsieur le Consul: J'ai regu en parfait etat le 
rouleau que vous m'avez fait I'honneur de m'annoncer par 
votre lettre du 21. Je vous en remercie. 

"Cette carte est un precieux document pour eclairer 
I'histoire des glorieux evenements de la derniere guerre 
d'Amerique. 

"Je suis bien redevable a Mons. le General Sherman 
d'avoir pense a moi en cette circonstance et je vous prie de 
lui en exprimer toute ma reconnaissance quand vous aurez 
Toccasion de lui ecrire. 

"Agreez, monsieur le Consul, I'assurance de ma considera- 
tion distinguee. G. H. Dufour, General." 



CHAPTER VIII 

1872 

LETTER FROM GENERAL SHERMAN — VISIT AMERICA — SANDS 
OF BREMEN — STORMS AT SEA — ELIHU WASHBURNE — BAN- 
QUET TO HIM ON SHIP — I AM A GUEST AT THE SHERMAN 
HOME — MRS. SHERMAN — ARRANGE TO TAKE MISS SHER- 
MAN TO EUROPE MEET MR. BLAINE — MY SONG IS SUNG 

IN THE SHERMAN HOME — CONVERSATIONS WITH SHER- 
MAN — MEET PRESIDENT GRANT — HOW I HAPPENED TO 
BE IN THE REBEL ARMY ONCE — LETTERS FROM GENERAL 
SHERMAN. 

October, 18^2. — As I had now been absent from home just 
three years, I secured a few weeks' leave to visit the United 
States. Dr. Terry was to go along. I arranged to sail on 
the "Deutschland," from Bremen, Oct. loth. Early in Sep- 
tember General Sherman wrote me from Ireland, asking 
me to bring his daughter Minnie (now Mrs. Fitch) back 
with me to Europe. 

"Dublin, Sunday, Sept. i, 1872. 
"Dear Byers : As you can well understand, I have been 
kept busy and have not had a chance to write letters, save 
to my home. My trip is now drawing to a close, and by 
Thursday next we will be at Queenstown ready to take the 
steamer Baltic for home. I have letters from my family by 
which I learn that my daughter Minnie is very anxious to 
spend the winter in Europe. I remember that you pro- 
posed to come to Washington about this time, and if you 

(62) 



SANDS AT BREMEN 63 

have gone this letter wih not find you at Zurich, and I shall 
hear of you on our side ; but if this letter reaches you, please 
write me at Washington, as I would prefer she should make 
the trip across with you, and remain with you until she finds 
General and Mrs. Graham, who are somewhere in Italy. I 
know you would do this for me, and it only depends on your 
coming and the conclusion Minnie arrives at after I reach 
home. I am perfectly willing she should spend a winter in 
Europe, and only desire that she have the personal super- 
vision of some friend of mine. She could easily join some 
party in New York, but she desires to stop long enough in 
some place to perfect herself in French, and to observe the 
customs and manners of strangers. 

"I hope ere this Mrs. Byers has passed the first dread 
ordeal of mother, and that you have now a child to think of 
and dream about. 

"Please give her my best congratulations and wishes for 
her continued health. Believe me, always your friend, 

"W. T. Sherman." 

When I went through the flat, sandy region of North 
Germany, to take the Bremen steamer, I thought I had 
never seen so desolate a country in my life. It was a rainy, 
windy day, and the train was slow, the scene sad ; everybody 
looked poor. Women by hundreds, with red handker- 
chiefs on their heads, were out in the fields, digging pota- 
toes in the rain and wind. The villages were sorry-looking 
places. Some day, when the Mojave desert in America has 
villages scattered all over it, and a poor American peasantry, 
the descendants of our children, dig potatoes from the 
drifting sand, the scene will be like that long stretch of 
ugliness in the rear of Bremen. 

Our steamer stopped at Southampton for a day and a 
night. So Dr. Terry and I took a run over to the Isle of 
Wight. To this hour, I think, I never saw so lovely an 
island or a place where I should so like to live. Its clean 



64 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

roads and pretty hedges and beautiful trees, its quiet Eng- 
lish villages, its rambles, interested us much. And then 
there was the blue sea beating all around it, and, passing it 
in the near distance, the ships of all nations. At the point 
was the lighthouse and the rocks, and nearer, the noble 
downs. Here were the rocks and the waves that Tennyson 
had looked at and walked beside for half his life — the scenes 
that made his poetry. Not far away was Farringford, the 
poet's home. The whole island, that sunny day, seemed 
like a dream. 

The next evening, at twilight, on our vessel's deck, far out 
at sea, I lingered and looked at the Isle of Wight, the light- 
house and the dim, gray crags, with the waves beating 
against them. 

We were twelve days reaching New York, and had storms 
and hurricanes half the way over. The "Deutschland" sur- 
vived them all, only to go to the bottom, on a later voyage, 
with three hundred people. That was in the Channel. One 
day, on this, our New York voyage, everything seemed to 
be going to pieces, and for an hour or so I knew how it felt 
to be very close to death. I was more alarmed than I had 
ever been in any battle. In war, one expects death almost. 
Here it was different. Not a human being could keep his 
feet a moment. There was more than one said good-by to 
comrades that day, as he supposed, forever. I had but one 
friend on board, Dr. C. T. Terry of New York, who lived in 
Zurich for many years, and with whom I had made hun- 
dreds of foot excursions in the mountains. He was a 
dentist, possibly in his calling not second to Dr. Evans in 
Paris. He had come to Switzerland a poor youth, and, by 
honor, skill and diHgence, had amassed a fortune. He, like 
myself, had left a wife and child behind in Zurich. In the 
midst of the hurricane, we shook hands, and in a few words 
agreed what should be done, should either survive. Had 
that ship gone down, I would certainly not be writing here. 
No lifeboat there but was being torn to pieces ; nothing of 



BANQUET ON SHIPBOARD 65 

human hands could have withstood that sea's fury another 
hour. But it was a grand sight spite of the terror. It was 
ten in the morning, snowing, and the sun shining, every 
minute, turn about. 

As the hurricane eased up, I hung on to a rope by the 
bridge, and miles away could see lofty white-caps, their shin- 
ing crowns lighted by the sun, lift themselves and thunder 
together, or roll on toward us till they would strike the ship. 
The sea was rolling in deep, green valleys, and, as the ship 
would leap across these watery gorges, the view right and 
left was indescribably grand. I looked at the awful ocean, 
and thought of Switzerland. It was as if the valleys of the 
Alps had turned to green, rushing waters, and the moun- 
tains had commenced falling. I would almost take the risk 
again, to see so grand a sight. 

October, i8y2. — The morning after the storm, the sea was 
still running high, but passengers could keep their feet and, 
if well enough, talk together. 

Pretty soon, a very large, grand-looking man, with a sea 
cloak about him, came on deck. "And who is he?" I said 
to the captain. "Why, that's your greatest American," he 
replied. "That's the man who cared for the Germans in 
the siege of Paris. That's Minister Washburne, the friend 
of Germany." Sure enough, on a day's notice, Mr. Wash- 
burne had come aboard when we touched at Southampton. 
He had been sick in his cabin till this moment. He guessed 
the storm had shaken the bile out of him, he said, when I 
introduced myself to him. He had been too sick to know 
the danger we had been in. Now he stayed on deck and 
was well. Mr. Washburne was General Grant's first and 
truest friend. Without his tireless support, from Galena to 
Appomattox, the name of General Grant had not gone 
farther than his father's tannery. Genius must have some- 
body to open the door for it. Washburne did it for Grant. 
John Sherman, in the House and Senate, did it for his illus- 
trious brother. Barras did it for Napoleon. Even a can- 



66 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

non ball, rolling down hill, has to be started by somebody. 

It is the last day of the voyage. The captain gave a ban- 
quet last night to Mr. Washburne. All Germans are deep 
in their gratitude to him for his work in Paris. 

Many speeches were made at the table, many toasts 
drunk. When Mr. Washburne rose to speak, he looked 
like the picture of Daniel Webster. The same large head, 
the same intellectual countenance. He looked like a states- 
man, not a politician. He was of the kindest manners, and 
loved to talk of the people he had known. I had the pleas- 
ure of walking for hours daily with him, up and down the 
deck, sometimes far into the night. He had been Lincoln's 
friend, as well as Grant's, and there was no end to the inci- 
dents he could tell of the great President. I regret now 
that I did not write them down. He also talked of the 
Commune in Paris, whose horrors he had witnessed. He 
believed socialism and mobism a disease. In Paris it was 
infectious. He told me much of his youth out West. He 
went to Galena a poor boy, and when he studied law in an 
office, making fires as pay for use of books, he had nothing 
but a buffalo robe to sleep on, spread on the office floor. 
Later, he was a Cabinet Minister. He was a true Repub- 
lican, through and through. Hobnobbing with the nobility 
of France had made no snob of him. He asked me to make 
him acquainted with Terry. *T like and honor such men," 
he said; ''they are the salt of the earth, these self-made 
Americans. They are what makes a republic possible." 

A very rich American lady on the steamer with us was 
carrying in her trunks several dozen kid gloves, and asked 
him to help her get "easy" through the Custom House. 
He refused indignantly, adding, "And what right have you, 
a rich woman, madame, more than my wife, who never 
owned so many gloves in her whole life, to slip things 
through the custom-house? The law expects, compels, 
her to pay duty on her two or three pairs, and, trust me to 



IN THE SHERMAN HOME 67 

see to it, you shall pay duty on your trunk full." She left 
him in high dudgeon, when he turned to me and said : "It 
is just such rich, ostentatious people evading law that is 
making the poorer classes mad and discontented with gov- 
ernment." 

"Lincoln," he said, "has been the people's friend more 
than any other man since Jesus Christ." 

On reaching New York, Mr. Arthur and others of the 
custom-house came out with a tug to meet him, and take 
him ashore. I was asked to go along in the tug. 

Mr. Washburne went to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. "Now 
don't you go because I do," he said to me. "It is a useless 
waste of money. I go because I have to. Come and see 
me there to-morrow." I went on the morrow and was 
introduced to Mr. Blaine, who had, I thought, the most 
magnetic personality of any man I ever saw. I thought, 
when he grasped my hand, he had mistaken me for some 
old-time friend, but shortly I saw the same hearty good-will 
toward all who entered the room. He knew how to make 
friends, and to keep them. What a golden secret ! I never 
forgot that handshake. 

November, 1872. — For a week or so now I was in Wash- 
ington, a guest in General Sherman's home, then on I Street, 
corner of 3rd. He and Mrs. Sherman cordially insisted 
that whenever I came to Washington, I should make their 
house my home. This I often did, not at Washington only, 
but later at St. Louis and New York as well. Mrs. Sher- 
man was always one of my sincerest and firmest friends. 

"Don't talk religion with her, though," said the General 
to me one morning in his study, after breakfast. "She is a 

very zealous Catholic, and you " "I am a zealous 

nothing," I interrupted. "I like Catholics the same as 
other good Christians, and have gotten over the notion that 
all the salt of the earth is in the creed I accidentally was 
born in." "Then you are all right. As for myself, it's no 
difference," he went on. "Why, I guess, I don't believe 



68 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

in anything; so in this room talk as you please." Mrs. 
Sherman was a thousand times more than a good Catholic. 
She was in every sense a good woman. Here, as at her 
other later homes, she had a little room arranged as an 
office, where she worked and studied out plans for helping 
the poor. Probably no woman in the United States ever 
spent more time and money in doing good. Few had more 
true friends. Her religious zeal was well known, and never 
abated. She thoroughly believed the Catholic church the 
best church. 

She was extremely bright and kind in her ways. The 
army officers all liked her, and her house stood open to 
every friend. 

I recall one evening how she and the General gave a 
supper to the staff. All were in uniform. She had not 
invited them to come ; she had just told them to come, and 
they came with their wives. Two or three civilians were 
present, Mr. Church, a famous war-song singer, and myself 
among them. After the supper there was some instru- 
mental music in the drawing-room. "And now," said Mrs. 
Sherman, "Mr. Church is going to honor us with a song." 
My verses, "Sherman's March to the Sea," were still popu- 
lar in the country, being sung everywhere. Mr. Church 
stepped to the front of the piano and sang the song in such 
a voice as I had never heard it sung in before. The splen- 
did rendering of the music, his great, fine, patriotic tones, 
that sounded like the coming of an army with banners, 
moved everyone in that room deeply. For a moment, I 
entirely forgot that the words were my own. All ap- 
plauded, so did I ; why not? So did the General. Then a 
guest stepped forward and made a little speech. "I am 
happy," said he ; "I speak for all. What a pleasure we have 
had — the first song of the war, sung by the first war-song 
singer in the land, in the presence of the one who wrote it, 
aqd in the home of the Commander who made the March." 

General Sherman, too, made a little speech, praising the 



"THE MARCH TO THE SEA" 69 

music, the words, the singer, and then he added : "With- 
out this song, the campaign never would have had its pic- 
turesque name. Now," said he, "I want Mr. Church to 
sing that other favorite song of mine, 'Old Soldier, You've 
Played Out Your Time.' " 

They were rugged verses Mr. Church now sang, and 
striking music, but, privately, I almost thought it a little 
cynical in the General to agree with the words that declared 
an unknown grave in a ditch a desirable ending for the 
true soldier. "But that's it, that's it," said the General. "Do 
your duty, have a good time and win glory, but don't kick 
when the end comes. That song is the true picture of a 
soldier's life." 

It was a memorable evening, but, I fear, not half a dozen 
of that happy company are on earth now. Yet it seems so 
few years back. The voices of all of them still seem to 
sound in my ear. I write down the little record before the 
last memory fades. That night at General Sherman's house 
was an echo of the war days. 

When the company left that night, the General asked me 
up to his little room. He was smoking constantly. The 
conversation turned on the origin of the "March to the Sea." 
"Yes, I know," he said, "some of Grant's friends are claim- 
ing that he suggested that, but no one ever heard Grant 
himself utter one word to claim it. True, he was chief com- 
mander over all the armies, when I cut loose for the South ; 
but it would be just as senseless to attribute it to the Presi- 
dent, who was over all of us, as to attribute it to Grant. 
Lincoln's letter to me, after the event, shows how com- 
pletely he knew who originated the idea of my changing 
base and putting my army down by the ocean ; and a letter 
from Lee, written after the war, shows what he thought of 
the importance of my getting this water base, and of its 
sequence, the march north in the Carolinas. 'The moment 
he reaches the Roanoke,' said Lee, 'Richmond is untenable, 
and I leave it.' " 



70 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

One May morning (1864), away back by Chattanooga, a 
certain General Warner asked General Sherman, privately, 
what he was going to do when he got his army away down 
to Atlanta, without supplies, and with a lot of rebels behind. 
General Sherman suddenly stopped his pacing the floor, 
knocked the ashes from his cigar, and said, ''Salt water." 
"Do you mean Savannah or Charleston?" said the aston- 
ished stafif ofBcer. ''Yes," replied Sherman, "I do." That 
was the origin of the "March to the Sea." 

General Warner related the whole details of this conver- 
sation, in a letter to General Sherman's wife. Lincoln con- 
gratulated the great leader, and added, "None of us, I believe, 
went further than to acquiesce." One of the interesting auto- 
graph letters of the war is that one to Sherman, saying : "I 
congratulate you on the splendid results of your campaign, 
the like of which is not heard of in past history. (Signed) 
U. S. Grant." 

"Well," said the General at last, laughing, as he gave the 
fire a great stir with the poker : "I suppose they won't 
hardly doubt as to who really made the march." 

November, 18^2. — Went out to my home in Iowa and vis- 
ited my relatives. While there, received a couple of notes 
from General Sherman, saying Miss Sherman was getting 
ready to join me on my trip back to Europe, the 14th of 
December, by the "Celtic." 

"Washington, D. C, Nov. 5, 1872. 
"Dear Byers: I wrote to Mr. Sparks, agent of the 
White Star Line, soon after you left us, but he had gone 
out on the plains. He is just back, and writes me promptly, 
offering the most liberal terms, more than I deem it pru- 
dent to accept. He offers the best rooms in any of his 
ships, and *to accept your ticket on the Bremen Line in ex- 
change.' I knew he would be glad to favor me, but I 
always prefer to pay the usual price, and to accept as a 



MEET PRESIDENT GRANT 71 

favor 'preferable accommodations.' Now, I have written to 
Sparks that I prefer to pay full passage for Minnie, and 
merely suggest for you that he charge you the usual fare to 
Paris, $95, and take your ticket at its cost, $63. This would 
leave you $32 to pay, and this will embrace railroad tickets 
from Liverpool to Paris. I also named the 'Celtic,' the 
finest ship afloat, which sails Dec. 14, and I guarantee she 
will put you in Liverpool in 83/2 days, and in Paris Dec. 24, 
giving you barely time to take Christmas dinner with Mrs. 
Byers at Zurich. Write me as soon as you can that I may 
close the bargain. We will expect you to come to stay with 
us as long as you please before starting. 

**I take it for granted you vote to-day, and will then have 
a full month to see your folks and come to us. Of course, 
I don't like to hurry you, but this programme seems so fair 
I trust it will suit your convenience. 

"My best regards to your father. Truly yours, 

"W. T. Sherman." 

"Washington, D. C, Nov. 22, iSy2. 

"Dear Byers: I now have a letter from Mr. Sparks, 
agent of the White Star Line, saying he has all ready for 
your and Minnie's most comfortable passage in the 'Celtic' 
Dec. 14, next. So I shall expect you here by the loth of 
December, and will accompany you to New York and see 
you off. 

"He also reports that the 'Celtic' has just made the run 
from New York to Queenstown in 8 days and 12 hours, 
with bad coal. So you may safely count on reaching Paris 
inside of ten days. Truly yours, W. T. Sherman." 

Shortly, I went back to the General's home at Washing- 
ton. He took me to see President Grant. He seemed to 
have free access wherever he pleased to go, for, although 
others were waiting in the reception-room, he passed them 
with a bow, and conducted me into the cabinet-room. Gen- 



72 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

eral Grant sat quite alone at the end of the historic table. 
The warmth of his reception showed very quickly how inti- 
mate the two great leaders were. 

The President asked me some questions about the service 
abroad, and my repUes seemed to gratify him. Then there 
was a hint that Mr. Horace Rublee, the American Minister 
at Bern, was about to resign and come home. I had 
known that from Mr. Rublee direct, and I had quite an am- 
bition to secure the place. Why not? I had performed 
the duties more than once in the Minister's absence, and 
the proposed promotion seemed perfectly natural. General 
Grant gave me every encouragement to believe that I 
should shortly have the post. 

Shortly the President arose and asked General Sherman 
to let him know at once when the resignation of Rublee 
should be sent in. He saw no reason why I should not be 
promoted to the post. 

"It looks like a very sure thing," said the General to me 
as we left the White House. 

Alas, and alack ! Mr. Rublee went home on a leave, 
found his affairs different from what he had anticipated, 
and did not resign at all. He simply got his leave extended 
and extended, and drew the pay, nearly to the end of 
Grant's term. My best good chance was gone. 

December p, 18/2. — Went with the General and Mrs. Sher- 
man to hear McDonald, the Scotch novelist, lecture on 
Burns. General Sherman introduced the speaker, and, in 
a little speech, showed his own familiarity with the Scotch 
bard. I knew this well enough, for I had seen him reading 
Burns by the hour. McDonald commenced with great feel- 
ing and enthusiasm. Once I had heard Charles Dickens 
read, but it seemed to me here, to-night, was a man more 
sincere with his subject. There was no effort at effect. I 
recall Dickens in his dress suit, his enormous white shirt 
front, his big, red rose on his lapel, his dainty, foppish 



AN ARMY EXPERIENCE 73 

movements on the stage, his undisguised pauses and signals 
for applause, as much as to say : "That is good ; now clap 
>your hands." With McDonald, all was different, all sincere. 
Burns seemed to be there in person that night. 

After the lecture we sat up till midnight, telling reminis- 
cences of the war. The year before, in our home at Zurich, 
we had spoken of an escape I had once made from the 
prison pen at Macon, and of how near I had come to chang- 
ing the whole siege of Atlanta. He asked me for some 
more of the details. I had been captured from his army in 
the assault on Missionary Ridge, and had endured many 
months of imprisonment at Libby. When they put us in 
the stockade at Macon, I resolved on getting away. The 
first time I tried it, the guards fired and killed another offi- 
cer, who happened to be near me, in the dark. Then, by 
hook and crook, I got hold of a gray rebel uniform, and in 
this disguise, one bright July morning, walked over the 
dead line, past the guards, and, eventually, got off into the 
rebel army at Atlanta, a hundred miles away. For ten days 
I walked up and down among the troops, the forts, ob- 
serving the position of the besieged army. I dared not 
stop, or rest, or sleep. If spoken to, or stopped, I was for- 
ever just going to the Ninth Alabama, where I claimed to 
belong. Naturally, I never went near that regiment. My 
intent was to collect all information possible concerning the 
rebel troops and forts, and then, in the excitement of the 
first battle, escape through the lines. I well knew the value 
my knowledge now could be to Sherman. I had dozens 
of incidents every day that for a moment put my life in 
peril. Once I saw the lines of the enemy so thinned, Sher- 
man's army could have entered almost without a shot. Then 
came the terrible battle of the 22d of July. I followed the 
Rebel troops in the attack on Sherman's rear, but failed to 
make my escape. The next morning I changed my course, 
and, passing their left flank, and down close by the Chatta- 
hoochie river, there in the woods, within sight of the Union 



U TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

banners, was captured as a spy. Every stitch of my cloth- 
ing was searched. I was brutally treated and sent to 
Hood's headquarters for trial. Unfortunately for me, some 
of the very officers who captured me had seen me in one of 
the forts the preceding Sunday. Army headquarters were 
fixed on the green lawn of a city mansion. The officers' 
desks were out on the grass, and the papers describing me 
as a dangerous spy were put into one of the pigeonholes. 
These had been shown to me on my way to headquarters by 
a foolish guard. All was excitement, for fighting was still 
going on. As for me, I was put into a little tent, with two 
deserters, who were to be shot the next morning. During 
the night, one of these condemned boys got out of the tent 
on some pretext, and, when morning came, and I was 
brought out for a hearing, all the incriminating papers were 
gone. There was not a particle of proof as to who I was. I 
instantly acknowledged myself to be a Union soldier, and 
claimed the rights of a prisoner of war. The astonished 
officials reminded me that they had a right to shoot me, I 
being discovered inside their lines in their uniform; that 
only a few months previous our General Rosecrans had shot 
two Southern officers for doing what I was now doing. I 
was in great peril, when a Colonel Hill, Chief Provost Mar- 
shal of their army, said, for the present, anyway, I should 
be put back among the prisoners at Macon. Almost the 
same night, I was selected, with some two hundred others, 
to be taken to Charleston, to be put under the fire of the 
Yankee fleet, then bombarding the city. The barbarism of 
the act, the excitement and confusion soon following, led 
to a complete forgetfulness of me. I never heard again of 
the charges against me. 

General Sherman had listened to the story in perfect 
silence. Then rising and giving the coals in the fire a 
violent stir with the poker, he exclaimed : "By God ! that 
was an experience. Had you gotten through the lines that 



LETTERS FROM SHERMAN 75 

day, it might have changed everything. It might have 
saved ten thousand lives."* 

Christmas Eve. — The voyage on the "Celtic" is over, and 
to-night finds Miss Sherman and myself in Merry England. 

I soon left Miss Sherman with friends in Paris, and hur- 
ried home to Switzerland. Later, after some rambling in 
Italy, she came and spent a month with us in our home by 
the lake. Two or three letters from her father at this time, 
though purely personal, are not without interest : 

"Washington, D. C, Jan. 3, 1873. 
"Dear Byers: We have all written to Minnie several 
times, but, I fear, we have overlooked the fact that you must 
have separated in Paris soon after Christmas, but I hope 
she was thoughtful enough to write you our several general 
messages of respect and fond wishes. I was in New York 
last Monday, Dec. 23d; called at the office of the White 
Line, and got the agent, Mr. Sparks, to promise to give me 
the first possible news of the 'Celtic' That night I was at 
the New England dinner at Delmonico's, and received a 
note from Sparks saying the 'Celtic' was reported off 
Queenstown that night at 10:30, and that is all I know of 
her, and of the details of your passage, up to the present 
moment. The next morning I telegraphed to Mrs. Sher- 
man here, and to your father at Oskaloosa. All the ships 
that came over at the same time report heavy westerly 
weather, so I suspect you had a rough passage after passing 
the banks of Newfoundland, though the westerly wind 
rather favored your speed. My supposition is that you did 
not enter Queenstown, but put the mails on some tug that 
went outside, and that you put into Liverpool the 24th, too 
late for London or Paris for Christmas Day, and I hope you 
found out General Fairchild and spent the day with him and 
Mrs. Fairchild. We will begin to look for letters from 



*A detailed description of the incidents of the adventure within the lines 
of the enemy appeared in the Atlantic Monthly, May, 1880, and is repeated 
In Mr. Byers' "Last Man of the Regiment." 



76 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Minnie about Monday next— this is Thursday. The weather 
in all North America has been severe since you left us, 
except for two or three days after you sailed. The ground 
is covered with heavy snow. Yesterday (New Year's) was, 
however, strictly observed, and we had a full house of vis- 
itors all day. 

*'A11 my folks are well, and send to you and Mrs. Byers 
and the baby all sorts of messages of love and respect. 
Yours truly, W. T. Sherman." 

"Washington, D. C, Jan. 21, 1873. 

"Dear Byers : I was very glad to receive your letter of 
Dec. 29, from Zurich, and I see why you were unusually 
anxious to reach Zurich, with a clerk deranged, and short 
in his accounts. I am glad, of course, his deficiency has 
been so promptly covered by his father, as I suppose you 
are personally liable for his act. 

"We have several letters from Minnie, telling us of her 
voyage and safe arrival in Paris. 

"The weather all December was so bad here that we 
feared you had a hard time, but, on the whole, ten days was 
a good trip at that season, and you were especially fortunate 
in having so smooth a passage of the straits at Dover. Min- 
nie is beginning to figure on her trip to Italy, and is already 
in communication with General and Mrs. Graham at Flor- 
ence. I suppose she will go there in February, and I hope 
a month or so there will satisfy her, and then she will turn 
toward Switzerland. I think she has secured the services 
of a most excellent French maid, who will enable her to 
travel with great ease and comfort. At this distance I can- 
not well advise her, and think it best to let her shape her 
own course. 

"All things in Washington remain as you left them. A 
little more visiting and more dinners, and this will continue 
till after the inauguration of the 4th of March, when we will 
settle down to our chronic state again. 



LETTERS FROM SHERMAN 77 

"I propose to remain quietly at home till the North Pa- 
cific Road has progressed far enough to justify me in cross- 
ing the continent by that line. 

"Give my best love to your wife, and believe me always, 
your friend, W. T. Sherman." 

"Washington, D. C, March 7, 1873. 

"Dear Byers: I have your letter of Feb. 11, and can 
see you and your little family settled down in your quaint 
home by Zurich's fair waters. 

"We have letters, from Minnie at Florence, and she is 
now with our old friends, General and Mrs. Graham, and 
we feel absolute confidence. She says they go to Rome 
about the ist of March, and she proposes to spend March 
and April there and at Naples, and their project is to go to 
Vienna via Venice and Trieste. It certainly will be a happy 
incident if you can go along and take her to Zurich. I am 
afraid she will find less time to settle down to her French 
studies and music at Zurich than she first proposed. But 
let time settle that. She is now on the right track, and will 
have her whole summer to put in in the Swiss cantons. 
There is no good reason why she should come home till 
October. 

"We have just got through the ceremonies of inaugura- 
tion, and, as all the papers are filled with it, I feel certain 
you will get some by telegraph, and the whole details by 
the New York papers. Thus far no changes have been 
made in the Consular or Foreign appointments. The sen- 
ate is in extra session, and if General Grant proposes to 
make any material changes he must do so within a few 
days, but of this you will also learn by telegraph. He 
surely keeps his council well, as his most intimate friends 
do not know his purpose. 

"I think the Washington bonds are good, as the debt is 
limited to ten per cent of the aggregate value of taxable 
property. 



78 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

"Master Cumpy still flourishes, and asks innumerable 
questions of Europe, Asia and America. At present rate 
he will know geography before he reads. 

"Present my kindest regards to your good wife, and be- 
lieve me always anxious to hear from you and to serve you. 
Sincerely, W. T. Sherman." 



CHAPTER IX 
1873 

LETTER FROM GENERAL SHERMAN — LOSS OF THE "AT- 
LANTIC" THE BOYHOOD HOME OF NAPOLEON III. AND 

OF HIS MOTHER, QUEEN HORTENSE A COMPANION TELLS 

OF THE prince's PRANKS AND STUDIES JOSEPHINe'S 

HARP ARENABERG FULL OF NAPOLEON RELICS WE 

HAVE A LONG INTERVIEW WITH THE EX-EMPRESS EU- 
GENIE — LETTER FROM GENERAL SHERMAN — SPEAKS OF 
THIERS. 

May Day, 187^. — ^The terrible wreck of the White Star 
Liner "Atlantic," took place two weeks since. Five hun- 
dred souls lost. I had secured passage for our young 
friend, Hirzel. He writes how he clung to the rigging that 
cold morning, and witnessed poor human beings gradually 
freezing, letting loose their hold, and dropping from the 
rigging down into the sea. He was almost the last one 
taken ofif on to the rocks. 

General Sherman speaks of this disaster, as well as of the 
Modoc war: 

"Washington, D. C, April 24, 1873. 
"Dear Byers: Your last letter came promptly, and I 
have sent it out to Mrs. Sherman, who is on a visit to Ohio, 
and, of course, demands prompt notice of everything con- 
cerning Minnie. We get from her letters regularly and 
promptly, the last being dated at Castellamare, near Na- 
ples. She seemed unusually well, and said she would soon 
return to Rome, and then begin her northward progress. 

(79) 



80 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

The Grahams will probably move slower than she wants to, 
and she will probably catch a favorable opportunity to reach 
you in Switzerland. I advise her to take this course; get 
near you, and then maneuver from that as her base for the 
summer. She does not seem very anxious to go to Vienna, 
though I advise it for no other reason than to see the Fair 
and the city, and also to see the family of our Minister, Mr. 
Jay. I want her to come home in September or October, 
and to arrange for her passage as early as possible, for there 
will be a rush in the autumn westward. Notwithstanding 
the loss of the 'Atlantic,' I have not lost faith in the White 
Star Line. It was not the fault of the ship that she was 
foundered on the rock at a twelve-mile speed. No ship 
could stand that ; still, if she is afraid, then the Cunard Line 
will be preferable. 

*'Our spring has been very backward, indeed, but the 
trees are trying now to blossom and to leaf. The grass is 
very green, and I hope that winter is past. The President 
is away at the West and the Secretary of War in Texas, so 
times here are dull, although we find the Indians are trying 
their annual spring business ; not very peaceful. You will 
have heard of the killing of General Canby, and the treach- 
erous conduct of the Modocs. I hope the last one of them 
will be hunted out of their rocks and killed. I have not 
heard of the actual coming of Mr. Rublee, but notice that 
Consul Upton of Geneva has been named as charge during 
his (Rublee's) absence. If I hear of his resignation, I will 
endeavor to remind the President of your claims, but must 
warn you that against political combinations I find my influ- 
ence very weak. 

"Present me kindly to Mrs. Byers, and, believe me, truly 
your friend, W. T. Sherman." 

The home of Queen Hortense, Napoleon's stepdaughter, 
is on the Rhine, only a couple of hours' ride from Zurich. 
One of our delightful excursions was to go and see the falls 



HOME OF QUEEN HORTENSE 81 

at Schaffhausen, and then take a little steamer up the river 
to "Arenaberg," the beautiful chateau where the Queen 
lived for twenty years, and where she died. Here, too, her 
son, Napoleon HI., lived, as a youth. In the stable build- 
ing, close to the chateau, were his sleeping-rooms and 
study. Louis Napoleon once said he would rather be a 
fine country gentleman than Emperor of France. He got 
his tastes for the beautiful in nature in this boyhood home. 
The chateau sits above the Rhine, with beautiful hills be- 
hind it, and the historic lake of Constance close by. It is 
on Swiss territory, and is a spot of perfect loveliness. It is 
the one spot where Napoleon's days were all happy days, 
and the one spot where Queen Hortense led a happy life. 
The scene is so perfectly enchanting, any one, not burdened 
with a crown, should find delight in just existing there. The 
Queen's room, in the upper corner of the villa and over- 
looking the river and the lake, and with ravishing vistas 
beyond, is just as she left it at her death. There are her 
harp and her paint-brushes and her table. In this room 
she wrote the famous song of "Partant Pour la Syrie," that 
moved all France. Walter Scott translated it into exquisite 
English. 

I went often to Constance, and among my acquaintances 
was one who had been a boyhood friend of the Emperor. 
It was Dr. J. Marmor, a retired linen merchant in the town. 
He still corresponded with France's ex-ruler, for Sedan's 
day was over, as was the terrible scene in that little farm- 
house by Donghery. Dr. Marmor showed me his letters 
from- Napoleon, and gave me the wax impress of his pri- 
vate seal from one, together with some writing of the Em- 
peror's. 

No one in Constance will forget the day when Napoleon, 
at the height of his power, came from Paris, to visit the 
home of his childhood. What grand preparations there 
were, what decorations, banners, bands, cannon; what a 
gilded equipage, for the Emperor to head the procession in ! 

G 



82 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Suddenly the train whistle shrieks. "The Emperor! The 
Emperor !" cries the crowd, as he descends to the carpeted 
platform. The big, gilded carriage and the flunkies wait. 
"Where is my friend. Dr. Marmor?" asks the Emperor. 
He is sitting out there, in his old, one-horse buggy, looking 
at the scene, hoping for just a glance at Napoleon, as he will 
pass among the self-appointed bigwigs and flunkies. Sud- 
denly the Emperor sees him, grasps him by the hand, and, 
springing into the old buggy, cries : "Drive on. To-day I 
ride with Marmor." Then Marmor's one-horse chaise, with 
nobody in it but the Emperor and himself, heads the pro- 
cession through the city. At first, everybody stared, and 
then everybody cheered. Marmor, in five minutes, had 
become the first man in Constance. That incident has been 
his pride ever since. 

When I called on him, and told him I wanted to write 
for a magazine something about Napoleon's boyhood, he 
gave himself wholly to my service, went with me every- 
where, and told of a hundred frolics he and the young prince 
had had in the neighborhood. Prince Napoleon would 
have been a poor secretary for the Y. M. C. A. He was 
an awfully fast boy, according to one who "had been there" 
and knew all about it. Some other old folks whom I met in 
Constance, knew things also peppery to relate, were they 
more than big pranks, or worth the writing down. 

Hortense's chateau is two miles or so outside the town. 
"Many a time,'* said Marmor, "after half a night's frolic 
with a few of us here in town, have I galloped with him out 
home, yelling half the way. It must have been the beer. 
When we got there, I slept till morning with him in the 
barn, the place where he had his study. He studied, too, 
spite of his fastness," said the doctor. "How he read books ! 
just as people nowadays read newspapers. He read every- 
thing, and he remembered it all. He was a generous soul, 
too; everybody said that. He was a famous youth for his 
kindness to the poor, just Hke his mother; only she was 



JOSEPHINE'S HARP 83 

better. What a swimmer he was, what a wrestler, what a 
horseman, what a rake ! As to horses," the doctor went on, 
"why it was a common habit of his to mount, not by the 
stirrup, but by a single bound over the crupper and into the 
saddle." It is curious now to know that Louis Napoleon 
once was a captain of militia here, and also a member of 
the school board. ''Bismarck never hatched out more 
schemes in Berlin, than the young prince did out there in 
the barn, over the horses. In his mind's eye, he was 
Emperor of France a dozen times out there. I guess all 
men do that, who have ambition," continued the doctor, 
"and he was the most ambitious boy I ever knew. But 
nobody thought he had any chance for anything." 

The attendants showed us all the rooms in the Queen's 
villa. Here, in the upper east corner, is the one she died 
in, in 1837. The sun comes into it, and it has enchanting 
views. At the end of the room stands, not only her harp, 
but, near by it, the harp of Josephine. The villa is full of 
souvenirs of the great Napoleon, too ; the clock that stood 
still the night he died at St. Helena ; swords, banners, pres- 
ents from kings, etc. In the garden, in a chapel, is a white 
marble figure of Hortense, kneeling before the altar. It is 
one of the beautiful things of Europe. 

The Empress Eugenie comes here summers. No won- 
der ; all is so enchanting. All except the memories. Right 
over there, almost in sight, on an island in the lake, is a 
castle, the summer home of the old German Emperor, who 
crushed out her husband's life. Greatness must all be 
paid for. 

What we had seen, made us now the more anxious to see 
the ex-Empress herself. Sometimes she was here at the 
chateau ; oftener, at the little watering place of Baden, half 
an hour from Zurich. 

Our chance came. Miss Sherman, the daughter of Gen- 
eral Sherman, was visiting for a month at our home by the 



84 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

lake (July and August, 1873). She was a good Catholic, 
and her mother was the only American woman on whom 
the Pope had conferred the order of the ''Golden Rose." 
Eugenie, also, was a zealous Catholic. Would she receive 
the daughter of General Sherman, and the Consul and his 
wife? The Duke Bassano arranged it all. "Her majesty 
will receive you on Tuesday morning, at ten o'clock," said 
a little perfumed note in French. We were not so sure of 
our Gallic verbs and pronouns ; still, we could speak some 
French, and would risk the visit. Tuesday morning found 
us in our best toilettes, waiting in a little anteroom, at the 
annex of the Hotel in Baden. It was a simple enough old 
stone house, half of it built by the Romans, in the times 
when they, too, came to these springs for their aches and 
pains. In a few minutes, the friendly old Duke Bassano 
came in to announce that all was ready. Major Cunning- 
ham and his wife were with us. "And how shall we address 
her," we innocently inquired of the Duke, remembering that 
the Emperor was dead, and France a republic. "Oh, as her 
majesty, of course, only as her majesty." He opened the 
door to a small, simply furnished sitting-room, and we 
entered. Almost at the same moment, Eugenie entered 
from an adjoining apartment. She walked to the center of 
the room, took each of us by the hand, and bade us a cor- 
dial welcome. She was dressed in full black, partly decol- 
lete and trimmed with some white lace. She motioned us 
to some chairs arranged in a semi-circle, in front of a little 
divan. On this sofa she seated herself, and possibly never 
looked more beautiful on the throne of France. 

"And now what language shall we speak in?" she smil- 
ingly asked in the most perfect English. "Your majesty's 
perfect accomplishment in our own tongue, settles that,'^ 
one of our party answered. "Good. Oh, yes, I learned 
English in school, you know, after I left Madrid as a girl ; 
and my master was Scotch ; and then I lived a time in Lon- 
don, too. I like the English, and I like the English people ; 



EX-EMPRESS EUGENIE 85 

but I like the American people just as well, only I never 
knew why your country kept slaves, and had no respect for 
black people. I am sure color makes no difference, if it is 
only a good man. Would you not invite a black man to 
your table ? I am sure I would, and did ; and once, when a 
diplomat who was dining with me also, objected a little to 
my courtesy to a 'negro,' as he called him, I gave him 
quickly to understand that possibly the negro was better 
than he was." 

Then she talked to Miss Sherman (now Mrs. Fitch) about 
her mother, of whose Catholic zeal and perpetual charity to 
the poor she had heard so much. 

To each one in turn she addressed some pertinent word, 
and then, laughing, turned to me as a representative of my 
country, and exclaimed numerous things not very compli- 
mentary to our system of high tariff. 

"Why, we make the most beautiful things in the world 
in Paris; you Americans all say so, and yet you won't let 
your people buy them without paying twice what they are 
worth, by your fearful custom-house rules. 

"Americans are so clever ; they ought to know they hurt 
their own people, and they hurt us in Paris, too. Our poor 
work for such small wages, and would always be happy, if 
you would only let them sell to you ; and, after all, your 
rich importers just add your tariff fees on to the price of 
our goods, and who has the benefit?" 

I answered : ''Ours is a prosperous country, with our 
protective tariff system." ''Yes, I know, in spite of your 
tariff. I have heard that, a hundred times. Some day, you 
will be just like us, and get where you can get the cheapest. 
You don't think making things dear helps anybody, do 
you?" Politeness prevented much discussion. It was all 
one way. Besides, was it not to hear her talk, not our- 
selves, that we were there? 

She went back to the black man, or the black woman 
rather. "I had a good laugh on my dear husband, the 



86 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Emperor, once. He lived in your country awhile, you 
know, and he was always fancying your pretty women. 
One day at New Orleans he saw a beautiful female form 
ahead of him in the street. It was all grace of movement, 
and elegance of apparel. He was struck by the figure. I 
think he was half in love. *I must see her face,' he exclaimed 
to his companion. 'I must see her. She is my divinity, 
running away.' He hurried his pace, passed her, and the 
moment politeness would permit, glanced back. It was a 
'mulatto.' I don't think he always regarded black people 
quite in the light I did." 

Shortly we proposed to go, though she made no sign that 
the interview was at an end. "No," she said. "Wait; I 
have leisure, nothing but leisure and rheumatism." But 
she had no rheumatic look ; a more charming-looking 
woman of fifty, I never saw. Her bright eyes were as blue 
as the sky, her complexion exceeding fair, her hair still 
golden, her vivacity of manner and cleverness of speech 
suiprising beyond measure ; and then her kindness made 
us feel that we were talking with a friend. All of us were 
led on to say much, and the visit lasted for two hours. 
Much of the talk was about Switzerland and health resorts, 
and so much at random as not to be remembered or noted 
down. 

When at last we arose to go, she again came to the middle 
of the room and took us each by the hand. And then I 
asked her a word about her future plans. "There are 
none," she said. "All is over. I have only my son, and he 
and I will spend our lives in quiet and peace." Alas ! only a 
few years went by and that son was lying dead in an African 
cornfield, his body pierced by Zulu lances. 

In June General Sherman has written again about Miss 
S.'s travels, and also something about the French Republic, 
and the Modoc War : 



LETTER FROM SHERMAN 87 

"Washington, D. C, June 9, 1873. 

"Dear Byers: I am just in receipt of your letter of 
May 20. Mr. Rublee was here not long since en route for 
Rome, and from what he said I think he has made no busi- 
ness arrangements, and that he will stay there his full term. 

"We have letters from Minnie up to May 20, at Rome, at 
which time she had joined the Healys, and will accom- 
pany them to Venice, Milan, Nice and Pau, France, a route 
that takes her well away from Zurich, but she begs to be 
allowed to remain abroad longer, say till next spring, so as 
to enable her to have more time to stay with you and to 
visit England and Ireland. I suppose she ought to reach 
Switzerland in July or August and stay with you a month 
or more. I have given her my consent, and hope before 
she reaches you you will have all our letters on the subject. 
If she stays beyond October, she had better not attempt a 
winter passage, but wait till April or May. This will make 
a long visit, but I suppose it will be the only chance she will 
ever have, and she might as well profit by it. 

"Mrs. Sherman did intend to take the family to Carlisle 
for the summer, but the season is so pleasant here that she 
has almost concluded to remain at home and make short 
excursions. So that we will be here in Washington all 
summer. 

"I rather like the change in France, and I think General 
McMahon will make a better president than Thiers, for he 
can keep out of the corps legislatif, which Thiers could not 
do. If France can stand a republic she must endure such 
presidents as time offers. It is easier to get a good presi- 
dent than a good dynasty. 

"Our Modoc war is over, and soon the principal chiefs 
will be hung by due course of law (military), and the bal- 
ance of the tribe will be dispersed among other tribes easily 
watched. We always have something of this sort every 
spring. Give my best love to Mrs. Byers, and believe me 
always your friend, W. T. Sherman," 



CHAPTER X 

THE SOURCE OF THE RHINE — STRANGE VILLAGES THERE 

A REPUBLIC FOUR HUNDRED YEARS OLD — THE "GRAY 
league" — "the league of THE HOUSE OF GOD"— LOUIS 

Philippe's hiding place — a tour in the valley of 

THE inn — letter FROM GENERAL SHERMAN — REGRETS 
HIS CAREER SEEMS OVER. 

This summer we determined to see the source of the 
River Rhine. For all that tourists seemed to know, it was 
only a mist among the clouds. It was far away in the 
upper and unfrequented Alps. We went on foot, and found 
all the upper Rhine scenery ten times as grand as anything 
below Schaffhausen and the Falls. Except the classic 
scenery from Bingen to Coblenz no scene there is to be 
at all compared with a hundred places on the Rhine, among 
the Swiss Alps. What is called the German Rhine, is far 
less striking. It is the Swiss Rhine, far above where it 
flows through Lake Constance, that is truly picturesque. 
At Chur, we turned to the right, into the mountains, and 
followed up the branch known as the "Vorder Rhine." 

Every morning at the sunrise, we were trudging along 
the way with our knapsacks and staffs, with the wildest 
mountain scenery all about us. We passed many ruins of 
castles, and numerous picturesque little villages — Reiche- 
nau, Ilianz, Trois, Disentis. 

We always rested a few hours in the middle of the day, 
slept awhile, and had simple dinners of trout and bread, 
v/ith honey and wine. 

(88) 










:1T 






k,^-k' k 



Jl-t 




Rich Peasant's House.— /'^^^ <5<?. 



SOME STRANGE VILLAGES 89 

Right and left the scenery is gorgeous, certainly, but this 
grand nature is also man's enemy in these higher Alps. 
Flood and avalanche are forever threatening ; the fields pro- 
duce little, the villages are poor and wretched, and we ask 
ourselves, why do people seek such places to live in? 

The answer is, they can't get away ; they are too poor. 
Besides, here is where their ancestors lived always ; why 
should they not live here, too, they answer. Years later, a 
girl from one of these places came and lived in our home 
as a domestic; but she was forever lamenting her moun- 
tains and her wretched village, spite of the fact that it had 
been three times overwhelmed by avalanches. That was 
the town of Selva. 

Near to this Selva, is the hamlet of Gesten, and there 
eighty-four souls were lost by an avalanche in a single 
night. The big grave containing them all was shown to 
us, outside of the village. 

Tourists who travel by coach and railway in Switzerland, 
have little conception of what real, Swiss, Alpine scenery 
or Alpine life is like. It is just judging the moon by look- 
ing through a telescope. Life in these almost unknown 
valleys, differs from all the rest of Switzerland. Here the 
commune is the government. Of national laws, or presi- 
dents and parliaments, the people know nothing. The vil- 
lage mayor is the king. Not many years ago, these mayors 
and their village advisers in the Vorder Rhine countries, 
could hang men and women of their own accord. 

The people are a species of Italian and speak an Italian 
dialect. Five hundred years ago, they had petty republics 
up here. Here were the ''Gray League," the "Ten Juris- 
dictions" and the "House of God." 

In 1396, the liberty-loving people of the high Rhine val- 
leys fought for liberty, and founded a little nation called 
Rhaetia, that lasted four hundred years, when it became 
united to Switzerland. Ilanz, their old capital, stands here 
still, a novel picture of past ages. The snow-capped moun- 



90 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

tains, the fine forests, the picturesque river Rhine, are there 
as they were then, and the sons and daughters of these old 
hberty athletes have changed almost as little as the scene 
of their fathers. 

We walked on to Selva and spent the night. I could have 
thought myself living among Roman peasants in the time of 
Julius Caesar. Everything was antique, simple, different 
from the nineteenth century. Corn grows up there, but 
the people live mostly from their flocks. I noticed the men 
wore earrings, and men and women, with their ruddy, brown 
faces and black hair, look like a better class of Southern 
gipsies. They have almost no books, few schools, and only 
a single newspaper in the whole valley. No human being, 
outside of the Upper Rhine, would think of calling that 
journal a newspaper. The houses are built of hewn logs, 
turned brown as a Cincinnati ham, and the clapboard roofs 
are held on by big stones. 

Spite of their surroundings, these peasants and villagers 
are happy, and sing and dance as did their ancestors on the 
plains of Tuscany. 

They fear the avalanches every night. They call them 
"The White Death," and look on them as sent by spirits. 

They know little, and care less, about what is going on in 
the world, and would give more to wake up any morning, 
and find a new kid or lamb born, than to hear of the dis- 
covery of a new continent. Their only ambition is to get 
their cribs full for the winter, and at last to mix their bones 
with the dust of their fathers, beyond the village church. 

Near to one of these villages, and farther down the valley, 
is the tiny lake of 'Tama," and there the river Rhine begins. 
The natives here call it ''Running Water.'' The stream is 
dark and green, and the lake is surrounded by dreary rocks 
and ice-clad mountains. It is 7,690 feet above the sea. 
Tourists on the palace steamers of the Rhine, down by the 
sands of Holland, should see the historic river at its cradle, 
if they would have memories to last forever. 



A KING IN EXILE 91 

We followed another branch of the Rhine that joins this 
one at Reichenau. It, too, is born among the grand moun- 
tain scenes, and sweeps through deep gorges, among them 
the famous Via Mala. Here at Reichenau, too, is the first 
bridge over the united Rhine. It is of wood, eighty feet 
high and 238 feet long, in a single arch. 

Near it, we were shown a little, old castle that has become 
historic. There was a school kept there upon a time. One 
October evening of 1793, a wandering pilgrim, with a pack 
on his back, knocked at the door and begged the old school- 
master to give him work. He could cipher and talk French, 
and write a decent hand. For many months, the humble 
stranger helped to teach the boys, and earned his daily 
bread. No one troubled himself to find out who he was. 
He signed his name Chabourd Latour. One evening, the 
boys saw the undermaster in tears. He was reading a 
newspaper, wherein was the account of his father's being 
beheaded on a Paris scaffold. The secret of the poor 
teacher was soon out. It was not Latour, but Louis Phil- 
ippe, a coming king of France. He had wandered every- 
where in disguise, for after his escape from banishment, no 
nation had dared give him a resting place. 

This little Rhine valley had no more romantic story. 

One evening after we were back at Zurich a kindly faced 
gentleman called at the consulate. The fatal card hung on 
the door, "Office closed till 9 to-morrow." I was in the 
court below, with just ten minutes between me and train 
time. I was to hurry out home to a party by the lake. I 
saw the look of disappointment on the man's face, and some- 
thing told me I ought to stop. The gentleman was a 
traveling American. Some papers of importance had to be 
signed by him immediately before a consul. Of course I 
missed the party, but I made a friend. It was Mr. A. D. 
Jessup, a Philadelphia millionaire. He lingered about 
Zurich a few days, and we met and talked together often. 



92 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Sometimes we had our lunch and beer together at the 
famous little cafe Orsini. Then Mr. Jessup said good-by 
and left on his travels. A month from then a telegram 
came from him at Paris. It was an invitation to be his 
guest on a ten days' drive in the Austrian Tyrol, with a 
wind-up at the World's Fair in Vienna. He was a friend 
of President Grant's, the message continued, and he could 
arrange for my leave of absence. 

A few mornings later a four-horse carriage halted by the 
consulate and we started for the Engadine, that lofty 
Alpine valley that is coursed for a hundred miles by the 
river Inn. This is not a valley of desolation. It is broad 
and productive, and once had many people and a little gov- 
ernment of its own. To-day there are pretty villages at 
long distances and Insbruck is a picturesque and historic 
town. But the Inn valley is sky high compared with other 
rich valleys of Europe. We had bright sunshine and a 
delicious mountain air all the way. The Inn is rapid and 
beautiful, and right and left, for twenty miles at a stretch, 
rise high green hills, or else abrupt and lofty mountains, 
with sometimes bold and almost perpendicular crags. If we 
saw a rock that looked extraordinarily picturesque, away 
up toward the blue sky, there were sure to be also there the 
romantic ruins of some old castle. It seemed that we 
passed a hundred of these lofty ruins, with broken towers 
and fallen walls, through whose tall arches we sometimes 
saw patches of blue sky. Eagles soared around many of 
these lofty and deserted ruins. As we two drove for miles 
and miles along the white winding road by the river we 
constantly looked up at the romantic heights, and in our 
minds re-peopled the gray old castles and thought of the 
time, a thousand years ago, when all the peasantry of the 
rich valley were the serfs of masters who reveled in these 
castles built with the toil of the poor. A time came when 
the enslaved rose and all these castles were overthrown or 



SOME ANCIENT RUINS 93 

burned and left as they are to-day. There are ruins high 
up above this Inn valley that, doubtless, have not been 
visited by a human footstep in a hundred years. Most of 
them are inaccessible. The former roads cut up the rocky 
mountain sides to them, are gone and forgotten, and the 
heights with their awful ridges against the sky look as deso- 
late as the desert. 

We closed our delightful journey with a visit to the 
World's Fair at Vienna. Barring the Swiss National Ex- 
hibition, I have never seen anything so fine. 

On my return I found this letter from General Sherman 
waiting me. In it, he expresses regret that his active 
career seems over: 

"Washington, D. C, July 14, 1873. 
"Dear Byers: I received your letter some days ago 
and sent it from my ofhce to the house, for the perusal of 
Mrs. Sherman, therefore it is not before me now. I take 
it for granted that Minnie is, or must be, at Zurich or near 
there. Since she has been traveling from Italy her letters 
have been less frequent, and I fear some of our letters to her 
have miscarried, or been delayed. It is now pretty well 
determined that she will remain over the winter, so that she 
will have plenty of time to see all things that can be of 
interest. I hope that she will give Switzerland a good long 
visit, and that from there she will make the excursions that 
are so convenient. We all write to her often, so she must 
feel perfectly easy on our behalf. Instead of going to Car- 
lisle, as Mrs. S. first intended, the family have remained here 
in Washington, and I see no cause to regret it, for we have 
had but little oppressive weather, and our house is so large 
and airy that I doubt if any change would be for the better. 
Of course, all the fashionable people, including most of the 
officers, have gone to the seashore or mountains, so that 
Washington is comparatively dull, but the many changes 



94 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

here in the streets, and abundance of flowing water have 
added much k) the comfort of those who remain and can't 
get away. 

**Elly and Rachel, the two smaller girls, who were at 
school when you were here, are now at home, and are busy 
all day with their companions, playing croquet in our yard. 
Tom is putting in his vacation by riding horseback with 
two of his companions up through Pennsylvania. At last 
date he was near Altoona, and will be gone all of July and 
part of August. I suppose the return of Minister Rublee 
to his post has disappointed you, but you must have pa- 
tience and do well that which is appointed for you, leaving 
for time that advancement which all ambitious men should 
aim for. I sometimes regret that I am at the end of my 
rope, for it is an old saying that there is more real pleasure 
in the pursuit than in reaching the goal. Although you 
may hear of cholera in this country, I assure you that it is 
not serious. I suppose the same is true of Europe, though 
it is reported the Shah of Persia declined to visit Vienna 
on account of cholera. I think Minnie ought to visit 
Vienna, if only for a week, to see that really beautiful city, 
and to visit Mr. Jay's family. My best love to Mrs. Byers. 
Truly your friend, W. T. Sherman." 



CHAPTER XI 
1874 

SHERMAN ON CUBA — VISIT ITALY — GARIBALDl's WONDERFUL 
RECEPTION AT ROME — THE ARTIST FREEMAN — FIRST AMER- 
ICAN PAINTER TO LIVE IN ROME — ROME IN 184O — SEE VIC- 
TOR EMMANUEL — JOAQUIN MILLER — HIS CONVERSATION 
AND APPEARANCE — NEW SWISS CONSTITUTION — MORE LET- 
TERS FROM GENERAL SHERMAN — TOO MANY COMMANDERS 
IN WASHINGTON FOR HIM — WILL GO TO ST. LOUIS — HIS 
VIEWS OF WAR HISTORIES. 

A hint once that if I preferred to be in the Army instead 
of the Consular service the matter could be arranged, led 
me to think of one of the Paymasterships then being created 
by Congress. The General wrote me as to these plans. His 
letter has value only because of the prophecy as to Cuba. 

^'Washington, D. C, Nov. 28, 1873. 

**Dear Byers: — I was very glad to get your letter of 
November 12th this morning, as it reminds me of a duty 
neglected to write you, renewing my thanks to you for your 
extreme kindness to Minnie. She arrived home about the 
1st of November perfectly well, and she has been quietly at 
home ever since. The winter season is about to begin, and 
she must do her share in society. We begin to-night by a 
large reception at Mr. Fish's, and I suppose must keep it 
up through the winter. I suppose that Mr. Rublee will remain 
where he is, and the Department regarding you as fixed, 
will not voluntarily promote you to a larger Consulate. 

"As to the Army, things are somewhat confused. There 

(96) 



96 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

is a law forbidding any appointments or promotions in the 
staff corps and Departments, including the Paymasters. Of 
these there are for duty about forty-seven, and I under- 
stand the Paymaster-General, Alvord, says he must have 
fifty-three to do the necessary work. And in his annual 
report to be submitted to Congress next Monday he will 
ask for that number, and I believe the Secretary of War 
and the President both approve, but for these six places 
there are more than a hundred conspicuous applicants. Yet 
I will submit your letter, or so much of it as refers to that 
subject, to General Belknap, who knows you and whose 
recommendation will be conclusive. Of course I, too, will 
endorse. But don't build any castles on this, for I know 
what a rush there will be on the first symptom of Congress 
opening the subject. Everybody here is on the qui vive 
for Cuba, but I don't get excited, for I believe the diplo- 
matists will settle it, but sooner or later Cuba will cause 
trouble in that quarter. I will give your message to Mrs. 
Sherman, to Lizzie, Minnie, etc., and will always be glad to 
hear such good news of the baby and Mrs. Byers. Give 
them my best love, and believe me, 

"Truly, etc., W. T. Sherman.'' 

March, 18/4. — Went to Italy for a month, via the Mont 
Ceni. I was surprised at the beauty of the river boulevard 
in Pisa, for travelers rarely mention it. To my mind, it is 
finer than the Lung Arno of Florence. Besides, it is some- 
thing to see a big bridge made wholly of marble. 

The one man of all men in Italy I hoped to see, was Gari- 
baldi, the Ulysses of the modern .world. 

He was not to be seen ; but I tried to console myself by 
looking over to his little island of Caprera, near the Sar- 
dinian coast. Dumas' Life of Garibaldi set my mind on fire 
with the story of this man. My inn-keeper at Naples, too, 
had been with the patriot in all his campaigns. Listening to 
him talk was as entertaining as reading Homer. 




?. 


M 












a^' 


crq 






■K^g/ ^ jpMMMMlll^ 


< 
n' 


k^^^M 




Hf ^. ^^ 








i^ ^^Bk 4 


o 






fca. ^Bk 


►1 


i99^^l 


v^^N^^Shh^^I 


I^Ap 


W 




li -^uiiV^^^I 


WW 


5 






Kpr nr 


3 




^^HME'^^mi 


r J^ ^ 


p 






«r -i 


3 


/>^,^ 9 


pKj^fc,"'^^r^ 






' '^' ,^1 


p%m^ 


- ^-" ^^-'^^^■"" 


1 








^ 


'^*4 





IN ROME 97 

The scene, when Garibaldi came to Rome from the soli- 
tude of his little island, to enter parliament the next year, 
was worthy the brush of a great artist. The Italy that he 
had made, and presented to Victor Emmanuel, had seemed 
to have forgotten the old man of Caprera. He was feeble 
and poor and rheumatic. Suddenly all Italy, his Italy, re- 
membered him. The King sent a gilded chariot drawn by 
six white horses, to take him through the streets of Rome. 
As the old cripple, wearing his Garibaldi mantle, limped 
into the Parliament house, every member rose to do him 
honor. I would rather have been Garibaldi in Rome that 
day, than to have been Caesar, riding along the same streets, 
with slaves and subjugated peoples in his train. 

March 5. — Looked at numbers of the historic Roman 
palaces. The one that affected me most was the dingy and 
neglected old building in the Ghetto, where the Cenci lived. 
This immense and half-empty pile, in an obscure part of 
Rome, would attract nobody, save for the story of a beau- 
tiful girl, immortalized by the pencil of Guido Reni. All 
the time I was within the building, my mind was on a scene 
in a prison, where this same girl hung in torments before 
her cruel tormentors, crying to be let down, and she "would 
tell it all" — the killing of her own father. 

And then came that morning before daylight, the morning 
of her execution. Herself and an artist are in a cell. A little 
candle burns, the executioners wait outside the door, and 
Guido Reni, to make her picture striking, drapes a sheet 
about her head and shoulders, while all the time she is wait- 
ing there for death. Saddest tale of Rome ! 

Next morning I called at the American Legation. Mr. 

W , the secretary, affected the utmost ignorance and 

indifference as to who I was, or whether my card would 
finally reach Mr. Marsh, our Minister. I asked him to hand 
the card back to me, and walked over to the Rospigliosi 
palace, where Mr. Marsh promptly received me, and in the 



98 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

kindest manner. I was in the presence of a statesman and 
a scholar — not a snob. 

Mr. Marsh had followed the Italian court all about Italy 
— to Turin, Florence, Rome. He stood high in the estima- 
tion of the Italian court and foreign diplomats. His genius 
and scholarship were now casting luster on the American 
name. 

"Don't tell anybody at home what a palace I live in," he 
said to me, jocosely. "They will think me an aristocrat 
over there, whereas I am the plainest of republicans. Here 
in Rome a palace is just as cheap as anything. Everybody 
lives in a palace here." 

In another part of the palace, I saw Guido's great picture 
of Aurora. I noticed the mark of the French cannon ball 
that went through it when Garibaldi was defending Rome. 

Bought a copy of Guido's Cenci, and then went and looked 
at the Angelo bridge, where they cut off the head of 
Beatrice. 

I went often to Mr. Freeman's studio. He was the first 
American painter to live in Rome. He was, too, the first 
U. S. Consul to Italy, and he it was who protected Margaret 
Fuller, on a time, from the danger of a mob. It was at the 
time the French forced their way into Rome. He planted 
the Stars and Stripes on her balcony, and the mob fell back. 
That was in 1849. 

Freeman painted a picture for me that has inspired a poem 
by J. Buchanan Read. It was "The Princess." The model 
was a blonde, with hair like gold. Freeman corrected my 
notion that there were no blondes in Italy. There are many, 
just as there were in the time of the earlier masters. Yellow 
was Titian's favorite color. 

Freeman told me much of Rome, as it was when he first 
went there, in 1840. He lived there under three popes, 
Gregory, Pius IX and Leo XIII. 

Rome was entirely different from to-day. The houses had 
open entrances, or, where there were doors, they swung 



JOAQUIN MILLER 99 

outward to the street, like American barn doors. There 
were almost no sidewalks, and the few seen were only wide 
enough for one person. The streets were dimly lighted by 
occasional oil lamps, great distances apart. Of course, as- 
sassination in such streets was of common occurrence. The 
water spouts of the houses were so projected as to empty 
themselves in cataracts on the heads of passers-by. 

The pavements were made of cobble stones, that had to 
be covered with straw or earth when the Pope went abroad 
in his grandeur. 

The city was full of foreign artists, along in the fifties, as 
now. Among them were Crawford and Greenough, Story 
and West, whom Byron called ''Europe's zvorst painter and 
poor England's best/' 

The fact is, West was a Pennsylvania Quaker, though he 
became King George's court artist, and at last got buried 
in St. Paul's Cathedral. 

I went often to the Vatican, not to see the palace itself, 
for that impressed me not at all, or only as a great and 
miscellaneous pile, but to see a certain picture there. The 
artist who made it was but thirty-seven years old when he 
died. Yet, it has been said that in the "Transfiguration" 
one sees "the last perfection of art." This picture seems 
to be one of those things that no one ever thinks to try to 
emulate. Like the Iliad and Paradise Lost, nothing of their 
kind came before them, and nothing is looked for to follow 
them. 

One morning I was drinking my coffee in a little den in 
the Via Condotti. A very singular-looking man came in 
and sat down at the little table next to mine. Hearing me 
speak English with a friend, he addressed me. "You are 
the Consul at Zurich, are you not? You were pointed out 
to me the other day in the street. I am Joaquin Miller of 
California. Let us get acquainted." I moved my chair and 
coffee over to his table. I was greatly gratified at meeting 
a poet who seemed to me to have some of the genius of 



1,. tfO. 



100 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Byron. His ''Songs of the Sierras" have the ring of the mas- 
ter. Last summer I read them in Switzerland. Their fresh- 
ness, their flavor of the prairie and the mountain, their pas- 
sionate utterance, took me by storm. What the EngHsh 
said of him, in their extravagant joy at "discovering" a live 
genius in the wilds of the United States, did not aft'ect me, 
it was the stirring passion of the verse itself. The buffalo, 
the Indian scout, the burning prairie, the people of the 
desert, the women with bronzed arms and palpitating hearts, 
the men in sombreros, with brave lives, and love worth the 
dying for — that was what he was writing about, and they 
were all alive before me. 

Sitting here at the little white marble table of an Italian 
cafe, he seemed all out of place. There was nothing in the 
surroundings of which this half-wild looking poet-scout of 
the prairies was a part. His yellow locks, flashing blue eyes, 
stormy face, athletic form, careless dress, and broad- 
brimmed hat on the floor by his feet, all told of another 
kind of life. 

Much of his talk was cynical in the extreme. He was 
ridiculing everything, everybody, even himself, and he 
looked about him as if constantly thinking to grab his hat, 
bound for the door, and rush over the Tiber with a yell. 
He hated restraint of any kind whatever — dress, custom, 
language. 

Miller was now writing in some little attic in Rome, but 
none of his friends knew where. He would not tell them; 
he wanted to be alone. 

A boy brought us the morning journal, and we talked of 
newspapers. I asked him what English and American pa- 
pers he read. He smiled, and answered ironically : ''When 
I want seriousness, I read the London Punch, and for truth, 
I take the New York Herald." 

There was no talk that morning with him about poetry, 
but he was jocose and cynical. 

He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was getting 



NEW SWISS CONSTITUTION 101 

ready to try my hand at a drama. ''Don't do it — all damned 
nonsense!" he cried. ''Dramas worth anything are not 
wanted, and if you write in blank verse, as you say you pro- 
pose, not one actor in five hundred knows how to recite the 
lines. It must be mighty plain prose for these wind saw- 
yers." 

Just then a tall, fine looking young man came and sat 
down by our table. Mr. Miller nudged me, and whispered, 
"Bingen on the Rhine." "That is young Norton, son of the 
woman who wrote 'Bingen on the Rhine.' I looked at him 
with interest; but he was English, and I was a stranger, 
so conversation at that particular table suddenly stopped. 

It was on this visit to Rome that I often saw Victor Em- 
manuel, Italy's first King. Every Sunday afternoon he drove 
on the Pincian Hill. The extreme Catholics of Rome, the 
Pope's party, paid him little or no attention, and scarcely 
greeted him when he passed ; but all the rest of Rome and 
all Italy nearly worshiped the "Re Galantuomo." He was 
a stout, dark looking man, with black eyes and a mustache 
like a horse's mane. He was fifty-six years old then, and 
had been twelve years King of Sardinia, and sixteen years 
King of Italy. 

At this time our Minister, Mr. Marsh, arranged to have 
a friend and myself presented to Pope Pius IX, but a 
sudden attack of Roman fever deprived me of the pleasure. 

Two men have existed in my life-time whom I should 
have given much to know, — Mr. Gladstone and Abraham 
Lincoln. Once I was a bearer of dispatches to Mr. Lincoln, 
but illness led me to hurry away, after giving the trust to 
General Grant. It has been the regret of my life that I 
missed grasping the hand of, possibly, the greatest man that 
ever lived. 

Back in Switzerland. Great excitement on this May 
Day, 1874, for on the 19th of last month, by a popular vote, 
the people changed the Swiss Constitution. Instead of 
twenty-two little cantons, doing just as they pleased, they 



102 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

will now have a centralized republic, more like the United 
States. 

Some interesting features of the new Swiss system are 
these : The President is chosen for but a year, and can not 
succeed himself in office. No military surrender is allowed. 
The post and telegraph and telephone belong to the govern- 
ment, which also controls all railroads and owns some. 
Schools are free and compulsory. Salt and gunpowder are 
government monopolies, and factories are under national 
control or regulation. Abuse of the freedom of the press 
may be punished by the general council. Supreme Court 
Judges are elected, but from the legislative body. National 
laws must be submitted to popular vote if demanded by 
30,000 people. The President must be chosen by the As- 
sembly from among its own members. Members of the 
Cabinet have seats and votes in the Assembly. 

August 18, 1874. — Had a long letter some time since from 
General Sherman. He says : "Don't rely too much on my 
influence here in Washington. Privately, we feel here that 
President Grant has somewhat gone back on his old friends, 
in trying to make alliances with new ones. Besides, I am 
compelled to endorse a good many on their war record, 
and would not like to be found to choose among them." He 
also says that this fall he will probably move to St. Louis. 
"There are too many commanding officers here in Wash- 
ington." 

On the 7th he writes interestingly about the histories of 
the war. 

"Washington, D. C, August 7, 1874. 

"Dear Byers: — I was glad to receive your letter of the 
19th of July, and, with you, think the Centennial of Phila- 
delphia will prove a lamentable failure. Congress will not 
probably adopt it as a national affair, and it will degenerate 
into a mere state or city affair. 

"Economy is now the cry here, and it may be that it is 
forced on us by the vast cost of the Civil War, which was 



SHERMAN ON WAR HISTORIES 103 

bridged over by paper money, that now calls for interest 
and principal. As in former years, the first blow falls on 
the Army and Navy, that are treated as mere pensioners, and 
every cent is begrudged. 

"No one who was an actor in the Grand Drama of the 
Civil War, seems willing to risk its history. I have en- 
deavored to interest Members of Congress in the prelim- 
inary steps of preparing and printing in convenient form 
the official dispatches, but find great opposition, lest the 
task should fall on some prejudiced person who would in 
the preparation an,d compilation favor McClellan or Grant 
or some one party. 

"All histories thus far, of which Draper's is the best, are 
based for facts on the newspaper reports, which were neces- 
sarily hasty and imperfect. Till the official reports are 
accessible, it would be unsafe for any one to attempt a nar- 
ration of events beyond his personal vision, and no single 
person saw a tenth part of the whole. I have some notes 
of my own part in manuscript, and copies of all my reports 
and letters, but am unwilling to have them printed lest it 
should involve me in personal controversies. 

"Minnie will be married Oct. ist, and we will all remove 
to St. Louis soon thereafter. 

"All send you and Mrs. Byers the assurance of their af- 
fection. Believe me always your friend, 

"W. T. Sherman." 



CHAPTER XII 

1875 

LETTERS FROM MRS. SHERMAN AND THE GENERAL — HE TELLS 
. ME HE IS WRITING HIS LIFE — THE NEGRO QUESTION — A 
CHATEAU BY LAKE ZURICH — I WRITE A BOOK ON SWITZ- 
ERLAND ALSO WRITE A PLAY — A CITY OF DEAD KINGS — 

GO TO LONDON — MEET COLONEL FORNEY — DINNER AT GEO. 
W. SMALLEY'S — KATE FIELD — VISIT BOUCICAULT — CONVER- 
SATIONS WITH THE NEWER SHAKESPEARE THE BEAUTI- 
FUL MINNIE WALTON — BREAKFAST AT HER HOME — PROF. 

FICK HIS HOUSE BUILT IN THE OLD ROMAN WALL — 

LECTURES — HOLIDAYS AT THE CONSULATE — MRS. CON- 
GRESSMAN KELLEY — A STUDENT COMMERS — BEER DRINK- 
ING DUKES OF THE REPUBLIC — DUELS — LETTER FROM 

GENERAL SHERMAN — PRUSSIAN ARMY MANEUVERS. 

March 24, 18/^. — Received a welcome and gossipy letter 
from Mrs. General Sherman. It reads: 

"St. Louis, Mo., March 12, 1875. 

"My Dear Major: — Your welcome letter would have 
been answered immediately, but I have not been well. My 
general health is very good, but the weather this Winter has 
been exceptionally cold. 

"Minnie and her good husband, with whom she is very 
happy, live a few squares from us, and we see them every 
day; Minnie having learned to be a great walker, during 
her sojourn in Europe. We find our circle of friends and 
acquaintances very large, and we find that almost as much 

(104) 




"* A 




LETTER FROM MRS. SHERMAN 105 

time has to be devoted to visiting here as in Washington. 
We are dehghtfully situated in the home we occupied for 
several years, before we removed to Washington, and which 
belongs to us. We have plenty of spare room for friends, 
and shall certainly claim a good, long visit from you and 
Mrs. Byers and the children, when you return to your own 
country. Should the next Administration be Democratic, 
that may not be very long hence. Pray remember that I 
shall expect you. 

"I have seen, and admire very much, your poem on 'The 
Sea' in the 'Navy Journal.' 

"I am very glad you were gratified to receive the pretty 
copy of your grand song, 'When Sherman Marched Down 
to the Sea.' I shall have something else to send you soon. 
The General's Memoirs are in the hands of the publishers, 
Appleton & Co., of N. Y., and will be out in May. It will 
be in two volumes, excellent print, and I am sure you will 
find it entertaining. I will see that you get an early copy. 
Please write to me when you receive it, without waiting to 
read it, because I shall be anxious to know if it has gone 
safely. Should you not receive it by the last of May, let 
me know. Do not buy a copy, for I wish to send you one. 
The book begins in 1846 and extends to the close of the 
war. The chapters that I have read are highly interesting. 

"The General seems to be growing older in appearance, 
but his health is good, and his spirits are the same ; his vi- 
vacity has not sensibly diminished. To-night he is off to the 
theater, to see Charlotte Cushman, who makes her last ap~ 
pearance in St. Louis to-morrow. We have had a great 
many attractive actors and actresses here this Winter, and 
we have yet in store a greater treat than all. Ristori is 
playing in New York and will be here some time during the 
Spring. The General and Lizzie both admired Albani ex- 
ceedingly, and think her a superior actress to Nielson and as 
good a singer. I did not see her, as the weather was bad 
and my cold was severe during her stay here. 



106 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

"St. Louis is a city of great commercial en4;erprise and 
has a wonderful future before her. Perhaps you will select 
this as a place of residence on your return home. We 
would be very glad to have you here. 

"I hope Mrs. Byers and the children are well and that 
your own health grows stronger. Lizzie joins me in best 
love to all. She and I are alone to-night. Elly and Rachel 
are away at school, Minnie in a home of her own, and 
Cumpsy in bed. 

"Believe me very truly and warmly your friend, 

**Ellen Ewing Sherman."" 

I find this in my diary. On returning from Italy, we 
went over to "Wangensbach" by Kussnacht, on Lake Zurich, 
to live for a Summer or two. Wangensbach is an old 
chateau, or half castle-place, built by the Knights of St. 
John in the long, long ago. The walls are three feet thick, 
in places more, and there are all sorts of vaulted wine cel- 
lars and mysterious, walled-in places, under the building. 
The view from the windows and terrace, of blue lake and 
snowy mountains, is superb in the extreme. The chateau 
is now owned by Conrad Meyer, the Swiss poet and novelist. 
It is six miles to my office in the city, and I walk in and 
out daily, though I could go on the pretty steamers for a 
sixpence. Here, on a May day, *'Baby Helene" came into 
the world, to gladden eight sweet years for us. 

Spite of Joaquin Miller's prognostications at Rome about 
plays, I was foolish enough to go ahead, and write a melo- 
drama in blank verse. Schultz-Beuthen, a friend of Liszt 
and follower of Wagner, wrote delightful music for its 
songs. I went up to Mannheim, and attended the plays 
in the old theater where Schiller was once a director, and 
where some of his best plays were brought out. 

Miller wrote me about this little play of mine as follows : 



WRITING A PLAY 107 

"N. Y. Hotel, N. Y., U. S. A., Feb. ii, 1879. 

"My Dear Mr. Byers : — I remember you with pleasure, 
remember the compliment you paid me in preferring a visit 
to me before the good Pope. 

"I have read your pretty play with pleasure, and have the 
opinion of able managers. And I am bound to say, my 
dear boy, that it is for the leisure, not for the stage. Like 
all your work, it is well done, verses especially, but how on 
earth do you expect to present five scenes in one act in 
this swift modern day? All modern plays have, as a rule, 
but one scene to the act. Then you have almost altogether 
omitted humor. Try again. By the by, I last night brought 
forth a play. See enclosed bill. , It was most emphatically 
damned. Write me if I can do ought for you, and believe 
me Truly yours, J. W. Miller.'' 

My libretto and the music had pleased Minnie Hauk, the 
singer, and she herself thought of using it, but the objection 
to the Wagner kind of music came up. Her husband. Count 
Wartegg, wrote me from Paris : "The libretto is very inter- 
esting, so original, and so well written that its success is 
assured." 

Minnie Hauk was just now at the height of her fame. In 
Scotland and England she was very popular. At Edin- 
burg the college students one night, at the close of the 
opera, unhitched the horses from her carriage and pulled 
her to the hotel themselves. I knew her quite well in Switz- 
erland. In fact, her secret marriage with Count Wartegg 
had taken place in my office, and I had been a part of 
the little adventure. She was a wife for years before the 
public found it out. Her husband had an historic old castle 
over in the mountains of the Tyrol. 

In the meantime I had prepared another little play, and 
Miss Kate Field had given them both to Genevieve Ward, 
who sent me this about them: 



108 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

"232 Rue de Rivoli, Paris, 26 Dec, 1875. 
"Dear Sir: — I received the plays you confided to Miss 
Field, and read them with much pleasure. Pocahontas 
should be very popular in America, and I trust you will be 
fortunate in having it well produced. The sympathies of the 
public should also be warmly enlisted for the 'Princess Tula,' 
a charming character, which requires delicate handling. Miss 
Clara Morris would personate it most charmingly. I regret 
that they are both lighter than my line of business, which 
is the heaviest. I feel none the less honored that you should 
have sent them to me, and again thanking you, and wishing 
you every success, I remain Yours truly, 

"Genevieve Ward.'' 

The second drama was not offered to the managers at 
all, and the two plays were laid away forever. 

While on the Rhine I also visited Speyer, "The City of 
Dead Kings." In one crypt seven German monarchs lie 
side by side. Next to Westminster Abbey in London, and 
the Capuchin Church in Vienna, no one spot can show so 
much royal dust, and nowhere on earth can one feel so much 
the fleeting littleness of man as in these three places. 



I had spent much time in preparing my book, called 
"Switzerland and the Swiss." Now when I asked permis- 
sion of our State Department to print it they promptly 
telegraphed me a refusal. 

A Consul, not long before, had published a book on 
Turkey that was not liked by some of the satraps of the 
Sultan. So a veto was put on all books by Consuls. 

My book was then printed anonymously, but received 
most favorable comment. "Whoever the author is," said 
the "Zurcher Zeitung," the principal Swiss journal, "he has 
shown more thorough knowledge of the Swiss people than 



SHERMAN AND POLITICS 109 

any foreigner who has written about us." The large edi- 
tion was sold, spite of its being pubHshed anonymously.* 

The London papers have much to say now about the 
mixed condition of party affairs in America. Yesterday 
I had a letter from General Sherman bearing on the same 
subject. It also tells me he is writing a history of his life. 
It also gives his views of negroes voting. 

"St. Louis, Mo., Jan. 26, 1875. 

"Dear Byers: — Your letter of Nov. 21st, sending a copy 
of the London Saturday Review, has been in my pigeon hole 
*For answer' so long that I am ashamed. I have always 
intended to avail myself of the opportunity to write you a 
long, gossipy letter, but have as usual put it off from day to 
day, so that now I hardly know what to tell you. We are 
now most comfortably established in St. Louis, a large, 
growing and most dirty city, but which in my opinion is a 
far better place for the children than the clean and aristo- 
cratic Washington. Minnie, also, is domiciled near us in a 
comfortable home, whilst her husband seems busy on his 
new work in connection with a manufactory of wire. 

"I have no doubt that General Grant and the Cabinet think 
me less enthusiastic in the political management than I 
ought to be. And they may be right. In some respects 
they have been selfish and arrogant, and are fast losing that 
hold on public respect they used to enjoy, and there is now 
but little doubt but that they have thrown the political 
power into an opposition that the old Democratic party 
will utilize for itself. The mistake began in 1865 when 
they gave votes to the negroes, and then legislated so as to 



* Note. — The second edition of this book was printed under my 
own name. It is the volume from which Boyd Winchester, in his 
"Swiss Republic," borrowed so astoundingly, later, forgetting both 
my name, and the common use all but literary burglars make of 
quotation marks Hepworth Dixon, though dead, and un-named, 
lives on in the book of Mr. Winchester in the same manner. 



110 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

make the negro dominant at the South where the old Rebel 
whites represent eight millions to the four of the blacks, 
and the first have united solidly into a dangerous opposition. 
In our form of Government, when the majority rules in local 
Government, it is hard for the National Government to 
coerce this majority to be docile and submissive to a party 
outside, however respectable. 

"I had seen that article in the Review, as also many others 
of mine which, on the whole, are flattering. I have, after 
considerable hesitation, agreed to publish the whole, of 
which that one was the conclusion. The book, still in manu- 
script, is estimated to make two octavo volumes of about 
four hundred pages each, and I have given the manuscript 
of the first volume to the Appletons of New York, and 
will send the balance this week. The whole should be out 
in about three months, when I trust it will afford you a 
couple of days of pleasant reading. Thus far the public 
has no knowledge of this thing, but I suppose I can not 
conceal it much longer. 

''We are all well. Give our best love to Mrs. Byers, and 
believe me truly your friend, 

"W. T. Sherman.'^ 

After a while the book appeared, and again the General 
wrote about it. 

''St. Louis, Mo., Aug. 31, 1875. 

"My Dear Friend : — I have received your welcome favor 
of July 31st. Mrs. Sherman has since got one of later 
date, in which you acknowledge the receipt of the Memoirs. 
I am glad, of course, that they pleased you in form and 
substance. Such is the general judgment of those who 
embraced the whole book, whilst others, picking out a para- 
graph here and there, find great fault. When I had made 
up my mind to publish, I prepared myself for the inevitable 
consequences of offending some. I tried to make a truth- 
ful picture of the case, as it was left in my mind, without 



DINNER WITH SMALLEY 111 

fear, favor or affection, and though it may cause bad feel- 
ings now, will in the end be vindicated. I want no friend 
to eulogize or apologize, but leave the volumes to fight out 
their own battle. 

"We are all now at home except Minnie, who has her own 
home not far from us. Her baby is growing and beginning 
to assume the form of humanity, recognizing objects and 
manifesting a will and purpose of his own. 

"Early in September all the children will resume their 
schools— Tom at Yale, Elly at Manhattanville, N. Y., the 
rest here in St. Louis. With the exception of some minor 
excursions I will remain close at home. Our annual meeting 
of the Army of the Tennessee will be at Des Moines this 
year — Sept. 29-30. We don't expect much, only to keep 
it alive. We look for a stormy political Winter, and next 
year another of the hurricanes that test our strength every 
four years. 

"My best love to Mrs. B. and the children. 

"Yours, W. T. Sherman." 

January, iSy^. — I went to London to see about my play. 
Stopped at 10 Duchess Street. General Schenck was our 
Minister then, and he and Colonel John W. Forney gave 
me letters to theatrical people. Mr. Geo. W. Smalley was 
also polite to me. 

It was a nice American dinner-party I participated in 
at Mr. Smalley's home, and while there was a little air of 
stiffness in the white-gloved, side-whiskered waiters, it was 
a hospitable, jolly occasion. Among the^ guests were Kate 
Field, Col. Forney, Secretary McCullovt'gh, and some En- 
glish literary people. Kate Field was wide awake, and 
she, and Col. Forney, one of the best talkers and best in- 
formed men I ever knew, kept things lively till midnight. 
Col. Forney was one of the handsomest men I ever met, 
and was loyally faithful to friends. 

One of my letters was to Dion Boucicault, the actor, 



112 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

probably the biggest dramatic plagiarist since Shakespeare. 
His name was to about two hundred plays, of which he 
certainly never wrote a dozen complete. He was of im- 
mense talent in the way of absorbing, or transposing, or 
cribbing outright other people's work, without their even 
knowing it. In a sense, he did make things his own. If 
what he afterward said to me about there not being an 
absolutely new idea in the world is true, then he was not a 
stage plagiarist, as much as a first class boiler-over. 

In this Winter of 1874-5 he was the most popular actor 
in London, and Joe Jefferson was playing there too, as was 
Henry Irving. At Drury Lane theater, there was nothing 
but standing room, day or night, when Boucicault was on 
the boards. His wife was playing with him. Several times 
I stood up among a crowd of Londoners whose hands were 
too pressed in to clap, but they made it up in crying or 
laughing. It was melodrama in perfection. All the im- 
mense crowd felt themselves actual participants in the play. 
What a bag full of money the English-American must have 
lugged home this winter. 

One evening a note came for me to call on him at his 
house, at 9 o'clock next morning. It was foggy and almost 
dark on the streets when I rang the door bell. I was shown 
into a drawing room dimly lighted, where, sitting in the half 
dark, by a low open fire, was a man I could have taken 
for William Shakespeare. The lofty brow, the intellectual 
face, the partly bald head, looked like no other. He did 
not see me as I entered, nor did he turn around, but went 
on looking into the fireplace. I looked at him a moment 
sitting there, and then said good morning. *'Ah," he said, 
looking up as calmly as if his whole attitude had been 
affected. ''Good morning, take a seat. I read your play, 
it is melodrama, it is no account; that is, as it stands, you 
know. You had best hire a good stage man to go over it for 
you. You haven't studied the stage, that's clear, and that 
is what is the matter of our countrymen, Mr. 



•TRETTY MINNIE WALTON'' 113 

and Mr. . They can write, but they know no 

more about the stage plays than new-born babes." I sat 
there and Hstened to him in astonishment. 

He talked much of himself, and related some of his meth- 
ods of making plays play. But the real secret, he could 
not translate for me further than to say, "The way to write 
a play, is to write a play." 

I could not help thinking, as I sat there listening to the 
voice by the firelight, of the time when Boucicault had to 
sell a play for from $200 to $300, and of that later time when 
a play with his name to it brought him almost $50,000. 

I took his advice as to my melodrama and had a play- 
wright go through it with pencil and shears. 

When I got home to Zurich a telegram asked that I 
forward the music at once. A London theater had accepted 
my play. Shortly the theatrical hard times set in ; my the- 
ater closed doors, and that was the last of "Pocahontas," a 
melodrama. 

Thomas' orchestra took some of the music later, and 
played it with success at the Philadelphia Centennial. 

One morning when in London, I was invited to break- 
fast with Minnie Walton, the actress. She was at the "Hay- 
market," playing with Byron, I think. She was noted then 
as the most beautiful actress in London. At the appointed 
hour I was at her house, but she was still in bed. I enter- 
tained myself in the drawing room for half an hour with her 
two pretty children. Then she herself came in, and I cer- 
tainly saw a brilliantly beautiful woman. Her features were 
smooth and perfect, her complexion very fair, and her man- 
ners most captivating. She wore a white morning dress 
with network bodice that outlined a form as beautiful as her 
face. She had no wonderful reputation as an actress, but 
her beauty attracted many Londoners to the theater. Every- 
where in the shop windows, one saw pictures of "The 
pretty Minnie Walton." She had a power in London, all 



114 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

her own. It was "the fatal gift of beauty," but a gift more 
attractive to women than birthrights and coronets. 

November, 1875. — Upon my return from London, we 
went back into town for the winter. House rent has doubled 
here in four years. We now pay 2,500 francs for a centrally 
located apartment of seven rooms. Everything has grown 
dearer. The pension where we used to live for four francs 
a day now charges seven and eight and nine francs. 

Zurich too is becoming a fine, modern, commercial city. 
The railway station is almost the finest in the world, and 
big, granite business blocks are building, that would do 
credit to New York or London. Where the city moat and a 
grave-yard used to be, is now one of the finest short streets 
in Europe. 

Almost the only house on this street, left of the olden 
time, is the '^Ringmauer," the home of our friend, Prof. 
Pick. Its front is an absolute w^all of ivy, from the pave- 
ment to the gables. The whole front w^all of the house is 
a part of the ancient city wall itself, built possibly by the 
Romans. The rooms are low, and the windows used to be 
ironed like a prison. Near by, still stands one of the old 
wall towers. Inside this ivy-covered old domicile, we have 
spent many happy hours. Many a time, over the walnuts 
and the wine, with the genial Professor and his family, 
we have sat far into the night and conjured up the people 
who were wining and dining here in this same room, may 
be a thousand years ago. Pick, a brother-in-law of Frank- 
land, the English scientist, was a distinguished law pro- 
fessor in the University. He originated the Swiss railroad 
law, and knew more of American affairs than any German 
I met abroad. 

In late years, he suffered horribly with rheumatism, and 
he had a queer habit, when severe attacks came on, of sitting 
down and comparing the severity of each attack with one 
in some previous month. He kept his watch lying open 



UNIVERSITY AT ZURICH 115 

before him, and carefully recorded each twang and pain 
in a diary. 

Spite of my sympathy for his suffering, I could at times 
hardly refrain from smiling, on hearing him exclaim : "Ah ! 
that was a whacker, that catch was — must write that down. 
Let me see — lasted two minutes, pulse 80 ; this day, last year, 
minute and a half, pulse 100." So for an hour he would sit, 
his feet wrapped in flannel, and his mind occupied in meas- 
uring and timing his pains. 

"What do you do that for. Professor?" I asked him once. 
"My God!" he replied, "it helps busy my mind. I would 
die without this watch and diary." 

In the afternoon the attack would cease, and in the 
evening the students would see the loved Professor deliver- 
ing his lecture as smilingly as if he had never had a pain in 
his life. 

December, 18/^. — Through Pick, Kinkel, Scherr and oth- 
ers of our friends among the University professors, we had 
free entree to lectures when we pleased ; could come or go. 
Scherr's on France, and Kinkel's on art, we heard through- 
out, as also Henne's on Swiss history. There were numbers 
of American students too in the Polytechnic and University, 
so that our relations with teachers and taught were very 
friendly. The American students were always at our home 
on all American holidays, when the Consulate and our apart- 
ment were opened up together and decorated with our na- 
tional colors. Speeches were made, toasts drunk, and a gen- 
eral good American time had. We ourselves greatly enjoyed 
these reunions on a foreign soil, and the students and 
American residents gave many proofs that they enjoyed 
them too. 

I recall how just before one Christmas, Mrs. Kelley, wife 
of Congressman Kelley, of Philadelphia, who was then 
living in Zurich, asked me to go with her to help select 
a picture for an American friend. I felt honored that she 



116 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE ' 

should consult my taste. A very fine and expensive en- 
graving of Dante at Florence was selected. 

What was my surprise, on Christmas evening, to see her 
head the American party to our house, with this picture 
and a speech to the Consul. 

The treasured gift hangs in my Iowa home, but the 
kind words of that Christmas evening are stored away in 
the depths of our hearts. It was the sign, not the gift itself, 
that gratified us most. 

Most of us mortals are so constituted that to have the 
esteem of our fellow beings gives us a most comfortable 
feeling here, anyway, whatever it may do for us hereafter. 

December /. — Last night Prof. Kinkel invited me to 
attend a Students' Commers or festival. There must have 
been a thousand students present in the big skating rink. 
They sat at long tables ; the corps students in high boots, 
and wearing their corps caps, badges and ribbons. In front 
of every one stood a mighty schooner of beer. All smoked, 
and the narcotic cloud was so dense I could scarcely see to 
the stage. There were decorations everywhere, and a band 
of music in the gallery. There were sentinels outside at 
the door, and whenever a particularly popular professor 
was about to enter, signals were waved along the tables 
and to the band. Then, as he walked blushing through the 
aisles to the stage, pandemonium itself was let loose in the 
way of clanging glasses, band playing, pounding tables, 
hurrahing and singing, until the conquering hero was seated 
on the platform. It was a great time for the professors. 
Lunge, the chemist ; Kinkel, the poet ; Hermann, the phy- 
siologist; Scherr, the historian; Meyer, the chemist; Klebs, 
the bacteriologist, and other men with names that sound 
all over Europe, were literally carried to the stage on the 
wings of noise, smoke, music and lager beer. 

These great Zurich professors are the men whom Hep- 
worth Dixon calls the ''Dukes of the Republic." They 



STUDENTS' DUELS 117 

are the only people in Switzerland appointed to their places 
for life. 

Students near me got away with a dozen and more 
schooners of Munich's best. I don't know where it went 
to, but they have been known to drink twenty glasses at a 
sitting. For myself, to keep up appearances I did away 
with three glasses and a half, and absorbed smoke enough, 
without touching a cigar, to give me the headache for a 
week. 

Here, as at the German Universities, the corps students 
fought duels. The most self-important young man in the 
city is the one with the little red corps cap, the big top 
boots, the ribbon across his breast, and the fresh patch of 
muslin on his nose, showing a recent engagement. 

If the duelist has attended still other universities, he 
will probably have a half a dozen welts and scars across 
his face. He may not know much about text-books, but 
these unseemly welts on the face are signs of great honor; 
and as the man of danger struts down the street with a 
big-mouthed bull-dog in tow, he is a spectacle to behold. 
His greatest happiness in life is to have some passer-by 
turn and gaze on him. 

And this was what Bismarck was doing at twenty; this, 
and shooting off pistols in his bedroom! 

These University warriors are not so dangerous as 
their slit-up noses indicate. I have known of fifty duels 
in the past few years and not a soul, save one, was badly 
hurt. He did get really killed. 

The offenses for which the students bleed and die are 
all petty, fanciful, and even provoked. Sometimes corps 
members are simply compelled by their different societies 
to go out and seek a fight and try their mettle. Ill feeling 
or enmity, I have noticed, has not of necessity anything 
to do with student dueling. 



118 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

November 20. — Had this from General Sherman: 

''Washington, D. C, Nov. 9, 1875. 

"Dear Byers : — I am indebted to you two letters, the last 
one enclosing the comments on the Prussian Army as de- 
veloped in the Autumn maneuvers in Silesia. There is no 
doubt Prussia, otherwise the German Empire, is determined 
to keep up the physique, organization and instruction to meet 
any possible conflict, thus necessitating much loss of labor, 
and constant trouble in furnishing arms and food. We can- 
not attempt to follow her example, though of course we can 
learn much from their experience. General Meigs was pres- 
ent on the occasion of these maneuvers and will on his re- 
turn make an official report which will be in book form, 
easy of preservation. 

"Republican successes here this fall make the officials 
feel better, but the fact that the House of Representatives 
is Democratic will cause much confusion and heartburning 
this Winter, and until the nominations are made next Sum- 
mer. 

''My best love to Mrs. Byers. 

"Yours truly, W. T. Sherman/' 



CHAPTER XIII 
1876 

STORM IN THE ALPS — MR. BENJAMIN — KATE SHERWOOD BON- 
NER — ICEBERGS — A SCOTCH POET — HORATIO KING's LITER- 
ARY EVENINGS — COL. FORNEY — MR. ROBERT — A NEW YORK 
millionaire's HOME — A CHRISTMAS NIGHT HURRICANE 
AT SEA — THE TILDEN-HAYES FIGHT — CIVIL WAR FEARED 
IN WASHINGTON — DENNISON, THE INVENTOR — A STRANGE 
MURDER — THE WRECK OF THE SCHILLER AND LOSS OF MISS 
DIMMICK. 

September i. — Spent a day or so of each week this sum- 
mer up at the Alpine hamlet, Obstalden, where we could 
look down a thousand feet into a blue lake, or up five thous- 
and to the tops of snow peaks. Tried to read Milton up there 
on the green grass above the lake ; stopped when half way 
through. I got it into my head that it was only a poetical 
paraphrase of the Bible. That is what Goethe thought once 
of doing, turning parts of the Holy Book into verse; but 
as the Bible is already done well, why not let it alone? 
Where is there anything in Goethe, or Milton either, to 
compare with the magnificent language of the Scriptures, 
and no human being would dare to change the thought. 
Curious, Byron, too, thought of putting Job into verse. Is 
not the book of Job already the grandest poem of the world ? 
When among the Alps, I never cared to read anybody's 
description of them; language is too weak, unless the lan- 
guage were Lord Byron's. 

One night near Obstalden, a terrible storm of thunder 
and lightning was leaping back and forth across the lake, 

(119) 



120 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

and at moments every peak was illuminated. In the dark- 
ness the lake was at an immeasurable depth below us ; a clap 
of thunder, a flash, and it seemed for an instant a bright 
mirror shining in the air. We had been coming down the 
path from Amden and had lost our way in the darkness, 
and when the lightning flashed, it was so vivid, we were 
afraid to go ahead. We took shelter under a projecting 
rock there on the mountain side, and watched the spectacle. 
All the artificial things that man ever dreamed of would 
be nothing in the presence of these elements, battling with 
each other over the mountain tops. 

From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder. Not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue. 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud. 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud. 

It was nearly morning before we could find the way down 
the rocky path to our little inn ; but anyway we had seen a 
storm in the higher Alps. 

A pretty little incident occurred here one day with our 
children. My wife, Helen and Lawrence were at dinner 
out under the castanien trees on the terrace above the lake. 
Two strangers got out of a rickety old chaise that had 
brought them up the mountain. ''May we eat dinner here 
with you under the trees?" said the eldest of the strangers, 
a kindly faced, white-haired gentleman, to the children. 
Extra plates were brought by the landlady of the inn, and 
the children and the strangers had a good time together. 

"And your name is Helen," said her new friend at parting. 
"Yes, and what is your name?" answered the little girl. 
"Just Albert, please," said the man, smiling. "Good-bye, lit- 
tle folks," he called as he climbed into his one-horse wagon. 
"Good-bye, Mr. Albert," called out the little girl, waving 
her hands, "Aufwiedersehen." 

In a few moments a rider hurrying up from the lake 




The Frau Minster, Zurich. 



ICEBERGS 121 

told the landlady in bated breath that it was Albert, King 
of >Saxony, she had been entertaining. He was traveling 
in the Alps incognito. "Good gracious," cried the land- 
lady, "had I known that, what a different charge I might 
have made." 

September 25, i8y6. — We are in the middle of the At- 
lantic. On the 1 6th, we left London on the Anglia. Mr. 
Benjamin, the marine artist (afterward Minister to Persia), 
is among the passengers. He made sea sketches, all the 
way. Kate Sherwood Bonner, a Southern literary woman, 
who put staid old Boston in an uproar last year by stirring 
up some of the effete clubs of culture that did not cultivate, 
is also on board. She is bright and beautiful, with her 
golden hair, and has the fairest white hands imaginable. 
A strange incident made us acquainted. She mentioned her 
home in Holly Springs, Mississippi, and in a moment I 
knew that once in the war times I was a sick soldier in that 
very house. I saw death scenes in its elegant chambers, 
in her own boudoir, of friend and foe, too horrible to 
relate. 

The weather is perfect. We sail to Canada. There is 
not a sick soul on board. Everybody knows everybody, 
and there are concerts and recitations and fun in the cabin 
every night. All the day we play games on the deck. No- 
body wants this journey to come to an end. 

We saw an iceberg, and we saw a whale (yesterday). 
We offered the Captain $20 to stop the ship, put us down in 
life boats and let us row close to the iceberg. He refused. 
"Company at London would raise a row," he said. We 
were so close, however, we could see beautiful little inlets 
and bays worn in among the high walls of the crystal island, 
against which the sea was dashing. The ice was several 
hundred feet high, clear blue-green, and the sight, with 
the evening sun striking it, was altogether novel and beau- 
tiful. We stood on the deck and watched it for twenty 
miles. When we were near to it, the Captain said there 



122 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

was a terrible drop in the temperature of the sea water. 
We were sixteen days reaching New York. 

October 4. — Visiting the Centennial. By mere accident, 
found telegrams telling us of the sudden death of my wife's 
father, while we have been having so long a voyage at sea. 
He was buried the day we reached New York. Owing to the 
length of the voyage they had given up finding us. William 
Gilmour was an educated Scotchman and a noble man, 
from near Burns' home, where his brother John had been 
one of Scotia's young bards. 

In October, we visited home friends in the West, and 
returning East, staid a time in Washington, visiting at the 
home of General Sherman and elsewhere. 

Horatio King, then having weekly ''Literary Evenings" 
at his home, invited us often. These evenings did more to 
enliven a taste in Washington society for books and high 
culture than any other one thing in that whirl of politics 
and pretentiousness. King had been President Buchanan's 
Postmaster-General. He knew almost everybody in art and 
literature in the country, and the people one met at his home 
were always interesting. I regarded it a great pleasure 
to go to his "Evenings." He was growing older, but his 
intellect was bright as in youth, and his young wife at- 
tracted people of taste into their charming circle. 

Colonel John W. Forney we also met again in Philadel- 
phia, though I had known him in London. He was a man 
of great intellectual vigor, of magnificent presence. I once 
heard a Londoner say, "Your Colonel Forney is the finest 
looking American I ever saw." He, too, like Horatio King, 
knew everybody. He had been Secretary of the Senate 
and was a famous newspaper man, who in his day ranked 
with Greeley and Raymond and Bennett. His self-possession 
was wonderful, his talk enthralled, and he had a heart kind 
as a woman's. Our Government sent John W. Forney 
abroad as a Commissioner, just to "talk Europe into show- 
ing her wares at Philadelphia," some one said. A better 



A NEW YORK MILLIONAIRE 123 

talker could not have been found between the two oceans. 
He was emphatically, too, a "woman's man," and he knew 
how to influence the public men through their better natures 
— their wives. 

In December, at New York, we visited at the home of 
Mr. Christopher Robert, who, as already mentioned, built 
''Robert College" at Constantinople. He was a retired 
millionaire, and his home life must have been a contrast to 
the lives of most New York money men. It was the life 
of one of the patriarchs, not on a desert among his flocks, 
but in a luxurious home, in a fashionable quarter of New 
York City. He was a splendid looking "old-time gentle- 
man" of seventy-five years. I never saw white hair so 
becoming and honorable to a man as his was, not seventy- 
five years carried so upright and with so much dignity. 
His large, smooth-shaven face was as rosy as a child's, his 
eye clear as a boy's of twenty. 

He had earned money in his life, and he used it in doing 
good. His house was a sort of religious Mecca, where 
a poor man could go and be sure of help. His daily life 
was that of a Christian gentleman. Mornings, after break- 
fast, a bell rang, when every member of the family, guests 
and servants, were expected to assemble in a room for devo- 
tion. In a fine, clear voice, Mr. Robert read the Scriptures, 
and though surrounded by wealth, dilated on the littleness 
of riches and the greatness of a true heart. Then he 
prayed. It was like a morning mass. And I thought what 
a city New York would be, were it filled with rich men 
like to Mr. Robert. His zeal for sowing good seed was 
boundless. No man hung an overcoat in that luxurious 
house entrance, but on going away would discover the 
pockets filled with sensible pamphlets appealing for a higher 
life. 

Evenings, there were always a number of pleasant people 
at dinner, and some delightful music. I recall an evening 
there with the Reverend Doctors Taylor and Ormiston. 



124 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Knowing Mr. Robert to be a man of deep sincerity and 
thought, I once asked him "if he thought the dead ever 
returned to be near us?" This was when out walking in 
the fields of Switzerland. ''Most assuredly I do," was his 
answer. "My lost ones are near me now — there in those 
roses, in the sweet grass, in all beautiful things. They 
come near to us when we are in a mood to want them 
to come. They don't speak — but they hear our inward 
breathings — and when we worship beautiful nature, we are 
talking with them." 

I could not help thinking of that beautiful custom in 
certain parts of India, where at funerals a vacant place is 
left in the procession for the dead one who is supposed 
to be invisibly walking along with them. 

On December i6, we had left New York on the "Elysia" 
and had tempests all the way across the ocean. On Christ- 
mas night, a hurricane set in, such as is not seen outside 
of the Indian seas. Everything on the outside of the ship 
was torn to pieces — not a life boat, nor bridge, nor boom 
pole, nor sail left. Everything gone. We were blown 
back thirty miles towards New York. The sea was churned 
into mountains of milk, and the thunder and lightning at 
midnight was something perfectly terrific. The ship's 
hatches were all battened down with tarpaulins, and we 
were fastened in below. Spite of the precautions, water 
rushed down the ship's stairways by hogsheads full. Two 
or three passengers lost their minds. Many said farewell to 
each other, including the ship's officers, and we all thought 
ourselves lost. 

On Nezv Yearns Day we reached England, just ahead 
of another storm such as Britain had not seen in a hundred 
years. Hundreds and hundreds of coast vessels went to the 
bottom, carrying unnumbered British sailors and passen- 
gers with them. 

As we passed the great pier of Dover, we saw how the 
mighty rocks composing it had been hurled in vast piles 



TILDEN-HAYES FIGHT 125 

by the storm, as if they were boxes made of straw. The 
work of the engineers had been as nothing. 

Man marks the earth with ruin; his control 
Stops with the shore. 



While I had been in Washington, the contest was going 
on over the election of Governor Hayes and Samuel Tilden 
to the Presidency. 

In official circles at Washington, the fear of disorder, 
rebellion, revolution, was extremely grave. Troops were 
being silently, secretly slipped to Washington. Many looked 
for an immediate storm. General Sherman told me pri- 
vately he was preparing for it the best he could. "If a 
civil war breaks out," said he, "it will be a thousand times 
worse than the other war. It will be the fighting of neigh- 
bor against neighbor, friend against friend." He grew 
almost pessimistic in his views for the future of our coun- 
try. "It is only a question of time," said he, "till the 
politicians will ruin all of us. Partisanship is a curse. These 
men are not howling for their country's good, but their own 
political advantage, and the people are too big fools to see 
it. We are liable to smash into a thousand pieces every 
time we have an election." He was greatly moved, and 
almost wept at the thought of what would happen, were 
the violence then threatened really to break out. 

January 4, 18//. — Again in Zurich. When we reached 
our home, we found the servants had returned, the house 
was warmed for us, and everything was in place as if we 
had not been gone a day; yet we had traveled 13,000 miles. 
Above the hall door, in evergreen and holly, were the 
words — "Welcome Home !" 

How many of our American servants think of such a 
pretty, feeling act as that, for their employers! 



126 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Some of our first Winter evenings here we spent in play- 
ing whist at the Dennison home. They are worth mention- 
ing, for the people who played with us, and the story of 
some of them. Mr. Dennison had once been manager of the 
Waltham Watch Works, and it was he who invented watch 
making by machinery. He is called the ''father of American 
watch making." He is a tall, fine looking gentleman of 
seventy, with kind eyes, pleasant speech, modest manners, 
and universal genius. He seemed to know everything 
that concerns the working of a machine. 

Our best whist-player at the table was Mr. Sadler, a kind 
old English gentleman who brought Christmas cake to 
my wife, regularly as the holiday came. He kept the story 
of his life secret. He was a mystery, and no one dared to 
pry into his past. We knew him to be rich, though he lived 
like a poor man in an obscure pension. 

One day, just as I was in Liverpool on my way home from 
New York, he was murdered in a quiet park; no soul sus- 
pects by whom. Then we found out that he had been a 
member of the English Parliament, who for some mysterious 
misdemeanor, in association with his brother, also in Parlia- 
ment, had to fly England. He got away by feigning 
sickness and death, having himself carried out of the hos- 
pital in a coffin. His wife, of whom we had never heard 
before, appeared suddenly at his death, like a specter. She 
claimed his money, which can not be found, though I per- 
sonally knew he had thousands, and as suddenly and specter- 
like departed. It is all mystery, even to-day. His banker, 
shortly after the murder, received a mysterious and un- 
signed telegram from New York City, saying: "Give 
yourself no trouble as to who killed Sadler. He will not 
be found." The murderer had not had time to reach New 
York. Who sent the telegram? 

Another of that card quartette was the lovely Miss Dim- 
mick, of Boston, a medical student at the University here. 
She was the first young lady graduate at Zurich, and she 



WRECK OF THE SCHILLER 127 

finished with great honors. Then she went home on a visit. 
On her return, we arranged to meet her in Paris, but one 
morning came the shocking news that she and five hundred 
others had drowned at the wreck of the "Schiller." 

Early one morning, in a terrible fog, the steamer Schiller 
struck a rock off the Scilly isles. Almost everybody was 
lost. The last seen of Miss Dimmick she was on the deck, 
kneeling in her night robe, her hands clasped, her face turned 
to heaven in prayer. When the peasants of the island found 
her body, there was a beauty and a peace in her countenance 
that touched them, and moved them to treat her tenderly. 
They placed her by herself, and when the officers came later 
to take some of the bodies away, they prayed permission to 
bear her coffin on their shoulders to the ship. 

Boston City Hospital voted some money and named one 
of the free ward beds in honor of Miss Dimmick. 

Now I recall those little card evenings at the Dennison's 
with strange feelings. 



CHAPTER XIV 
1877 

GENERAL GRANT VISITS LAKE LUZERN — CONVERSATIONS 
WITH HIM — HOW I BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS OF SHER- 
MAN^S SUCCESSES IN THE CAROLINAS TO GENERAL GRANT AT 

RICHMOND grant's SIMPLICITY IN HIS TRAVELS — A 

STRANGE EXPERIENCE ON THE RIGI — LONDON PAPERS 
AMAZED AT THE POPULATION OF THE UNITED STATES — 
FIRST TELEPHONE. 

July J, i8yy. — Last week there was some talk among 
the prominent people here, including the fev^ Americans, 
of having a public reception for General Grant. Know- 
ing that he was stopping at Luzern, I went to see him for 
the committee. In a little lake-excursion near to the Rigi, 
it happened that I was on the same boat with him. The 
seats on the deck of the steamer were filled with tourists, 
gazing in wonder at the inspiring scenery we were passing 
in the bay of Uri. The water is two thousand feet deep, 
the lake a wonderful blue, and the dark, majestic mountains 
near by, a contrast to the slopes of snow and the ice fields 
a little further off. 

It was summer, but the day was dark and cool. "Where 
is the General ?" I said to General Badeau, who was travel- 
ing with him. 

"Do you see that man sitting down there at the right, 
alone, with his coat collar turned up?" I went nearer, 
and recognized the familiar features. But to me, he looked 
none at all like the General Grant of war times, the one I 
had seen on critical battlefields. He wore a black cylinder 

(128) 



GENERAL GRANT 129 

hat, his overcoat collar, turned up, hid half his face, he sat 
earnest and speechless with arms folded, apparently barely 
glancing at the mighty scenes the vessel was hurrying past 
— scenes that were exciting exclamations of wonder from 
half the people on the deck. 

General Badeau pronounced my name, but General Grant 
did not, at first, remember me. When I recalled the time 
I brought the dispatches from Sherman to City Point, and 
the long talk we had together in the little back room of his 
cabin, about Sherman's army, he brightened up, interested 
himself, and seemed glad to talk of old war days. 

I think not one reference was made to the scenery we 
were passing. I must think, too, he was getting tired of 
all the attentions heaped upon him by European cities, for 
he preferred, when I spoke of it, that the Zurich people 
should do nothing in the way of receiving him. 

"Look at that great, foolish lot of people hurrying to 
be first at the gangway," he remarked to me, as the steamer 
turned landwards at Luzern. "They might as well sit 
still; nine times out of ten, hurry helps nobody — the boat 
stays at the landing, everybody will get off, and to-morrow 
it will be all the same who is off first." 

I have often thought of that remark. His taking time 
for things may have been one of the keys to his success. 

We were the very last to go ashore. That evening at 
the Schweizerhof, I had some pleasant conversation with 
him again. 

He regretted that he was not at the White House, just a 
few hours, to put the deserved quietus on the strikers in 
Pennsylvania who were shamelessly destroying other peo- 
ple's property. One hundred and twenty-five locomotives 
and ten million dollars worth of railroad stock were de- 
stroyed at Pittsburg in one night. "That is what an army 
will be wanted for yet, in our country," he added, "an 
army to make ourselves behave." 

He spoke of silver and free coinage. I admitted my 



130 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

ignorance of the whole subject. *'I don't understand sub- 
jects on which the experts themselves differ," I said. "It 
is simple enough," he replied. "I can explain some things 
that will make it clear to you ;" and he asked me to come 
and be seated on a garden bench, on the terrace overlooking 
that wonderful lake. 

It was 9 o'clock at night. Behind us, in zigzag lines, 
were the picturesque city walls and towers, built in the 
Middle Ages. The lights from the quays and bridges re- 
flected themselves on the lake ; not far away stood the eter- 
nal mountains. The scene, the time, seemed all out of keep- 
ing with talks on politics. But General Grant lighted a cigar 
and gave me more clear-headed notions about what makes 
money than I had learned from listening to, or reading, the 
buncombe of half the politicians in the country. It was 
because he was simple, and honest, and sincere, and be- 
cause he knew what he was talking about. I had, in some 
way, long before concluded that Grant was only a military 
man. That night's conversation led me to think him also a 
statesman. Any way, he was sincere. 

After smoking quite a little time in silence, he said, 
abruptly: "I was just thinking of the letters you brought 
me that time from Sherman. How did you get to me at 
City Point? Sherman must have been entirely cut off 
from the North." I told him, in a few words, how I had 
long been a prisoner of war, how I had escaped my captors 
at Macon, and my experiences in the Rebel Army at the 
battle of Atlanta ; my recapture, my escape again at Colum- 
bia, South Carolina, and my being appointed to a place on 
General Sherman's staff at the time; how one morning 
General Sherman ordered me to get ready to run down 
the Cape Fear River in the night, to carry dispatches to Gen- 
eral Grant and the President; how half a dozen of us got 
aboard a tug, covered its lights and its engine with cotton 
bales, and passed down the river in the darkness, without 
a shot being fired at us ; how I reached City Point in a quick 



MEMORIES OF THE WAR 131 

ocean steamer, and his reception of me in the little back 
room ; the excitement of General Ord at the news I brought. 
It was the first news that the North had of Sherman, after 
he entered the swamps of the Carolinas. 

All at once, the whole incident came back to General 
Grant's mind, for there in his cabin that time, many years 
before, he had questioned me about the details of my final 
escape from prison, and my means of reaching him in the 
North.* 

"Yes," he said, "I remember it all now. You had a letter, 
too, from Sherman to Mr. Lincoln, who came down from 
Washington that very night. We were all tremendously 
moved and gratified by the news you brought of Sherman's 
constant successes. 

"Many of my generals feared always that Lee might slip 
away from me, and jump on to Sherman down about 
Raleigh. I had, myself, more fears of that, than I had about 
my ability to take Richmond, if Lee would only stay there 
and fight me." 

Pretty soon, a steamer landed with a lot of passengers, 
and I walked with the General back into the hotel. We 
found General Badeau deep in newspapers, and Jesse, the 
General's son, playing billiards and smoking. 

The next morning, after an early breakfast, I visited Mrs. 
Grant and the General in their rooms. Mrs. Grant was as 
kindly mannered as the General himself. One would not 
have thought them fresh from the attentions of princes and 
potentates. They told me in an enjoyable way, much about 
their travels. The General dropped some remarks, too, 
showing me that the grand scenery he had passed the day 
before had been noticed very closely by him, silent though 
he had been. 

The contrast between these simple, great people, upstairs 



♦Details of this incident are related in Mr. Byers' "Last Man 
of the Regiment." 



132 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

in the hotel, and some of the great people downstairs, was 
very impressive to me. There was not one particle of stiff- 
ness or formality in General and Mrs. Grant's reception of 
me. It was as if his rank were no greater in the world 
than my own; simply as if he and his wife had met an 
unpretentious man to whom they liked to talk, and who 
would go away feeling that they were friends. 

All over Europe, I understand. General Grant and his wife 
have impressed people in the same way. In every sense, 
they were preserving their unostentatious, homely American 
ways. 

''Certain comforts and things, I want in traveling, just as 
at home," said the General. ''I want my little sitting room. 
I want my ham and eggs for breakfast — and nothing is so 
hard to get cooked right in Europe, as just these ham and 
eggs." 

************ 

I had a strange trip down the Rigi last Monday morning. 
I had been staying at the Staffel over Sunday. At ten of 
Monday, I was to be in Luzern, as an official, to help marry 
a couple, one of whom was an American. Long before day- 
light, I was starting down the steep path. It was starlight 
overhead, and a warm summer morning. Down below, 
however, the whole valley and all the lakes and hills seemed 
hidden by a mantle of fog. Every few moments we heard 
a clap of thunder away down there, or saw a flash of 
lightning dart along the gray surface. My wife urged me 
not to descend into clouds that looked so dangerous ; but my 
presence in Luzern was a necessity, and I went ahead. 
For half an hour my path down the mountain side was dry 
and beautiful. It was just breaking dawn, when suddenly, 
and within a few feet distance, I stepped down into a cloud 
full of water. Instantly I was in a perfect Noah's flood, and 
yet I knew a hundred feet above me the stars were shining. 
The peals of thunder soon seemed to shake the mountains, 
and the lightning became terrific. A few moments' walk 



FIRST TELEPHONE 133 

had brought me out of a dry atmosphere and a quiet morn- 
ing, into this storm of the Alps. I tried to get back and up 
the mountain, but I was fairly washed from my feet and the 
path. In five minutes I was completely lost, and, fearing to 
tumble off some precipice, I stood stock still. I had reached 
what seemed a level plateau of tall grass. There I stood 
till daylight came, and the storm went partly by, when, to 
my horror, I saw that had I walked another dozen steps I 
would have gone over a cliff and fallen a thousand feet. 

I caught a steamer, however, and reached the city, where 
the groom divided some of his drier garments with me, and 

the wedding went merrily on. 

************ 

Some of the London newspapers are in great wonder over 
the United States census. A country only a hundred years 
old, and yet mustering thirty-eight and a half millions of 
people ! ! Few European states so large, and none of them 
so rich and great. 

Our friend, Mr. Witt, had a telephone put up in his house 
yesterday. It is probably the first one in the country. 
Great curiosity and interest is manifested here in this in- 
vention of a talking apparatus, by which the human voice 
may be carried a hundred miles. 



CHAPTER XV 

1877 

GENERAL GRANT AND THE SWISS PRESIDENT — BANQUET TO 

GRANT AT BERN GOOD ROADS — CHARGE D'AFFAIRES FOR 

SWITZERLAND WRITING FOR THE MAGAZINES. 

July 2y, iSyy. — General Grant arranged to visit the Svv^iss 
capital on the 24th. Our minister being absent, I, as senior 
consul, went up to Bern to offer him the courtesies of the 
legation. Quite a crowd of people surrounded him as he 
came in at the station, and we drove to the Bernerhof hotel. 
General Adam Badeau was with him, as was also his son 
Jesse. 

At 10 o'clock of the morning of the 25th, I had the pleas- 
ure of presenting General Grant to the Swiss President, at 
the palace. President Heer spoke but little English, and 
General Grant no German at all, so it devolved on me to act 
as interpreter during the half hour's conversation. The 
Swiss Parliament house, called the palace, is a very noble 
structure, standing on a commanding height, with the Ber- 
nese snow mountains spread out in perfect view from win- 
dows and terrace. 

The reception of General Grant was simple in the extreme. 
A common business interview between two or three private 
gentlemen could hardly be more devoid of official airs. 

President Heer himself is a simple, kindly man, a states- 
man loved by his people, and very well acquainted with the 
affairs of other countries. He had evidently "read up" on 
General Grant, for he had kept track of his travels, and re- 
ferred to some incidents of his life in the war. As ex- 
President of the United States, General Grant was just as 

(134) 



THE SWISS PRESIDENT 135 

simple and kindly as was his Swiss entertainer. Each ex- 
pressed gratitude at meeting here on Republican soil. "We 
are not so great as you Americans," said the President, "but 
we are a much older Republic." They referred to the fact 
that the system of a second house in Parliament was 
adopted from the American plan. They talked about the 
advantages of two houses a little, and then the General was 
asked to go and look at the view from the window. There 
is not another view like that from any other executive man- 
sion on earth. 

The Swiss President does not live here. It is the official 
business building of the government. An American would 
be surprised to see President Heer's own little private home 
in the suburbs of the city. 

"I will return this call, General Grant, in just an hour," 
said the President. So we went back to the Bernerhof and 
waited. 

The return call was as simple as the first. It lasted but 
a few minutes, and ended in General Grant's accepting an 
invitation to a banquet that the President would give in his 
honor that evening. I had the honor to be included in the 
invitation. General Badeau and Mr. Jesse Grant were also 
to take part. 

The afternoon of that day was dark and rainy ; still I went 
walking far outside the suburbs of the town. 

Near to an old bridge, I came across a man' standing abso- 
lutely alone, in the rain, carefully examining the queer struc- 
ture. It was General Grant. 

He did not observe me, and I, believing that he wished to 
be alone, went my way down a different path. 

It was fully an hour before he returned to the hotel, wet 
and muddy. That evening at the dinner, I heard him telling 
a cabinet officer of a delightful walk he had in the outskirts 
of the city. 

There was no little surprise to know that the world's 
guest, instead of being escorted around by committees and 



136 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

brass bands, had spent half the afternoon out on a country 
road alone in the rain. 

General Grant had no reputation as an after-dinner 
speaker, but he made two little speeches on this occasion, 
one in reply to the toast of the President to the distin- 
guished visitor, and a longer one, when he himself proposed 
''Switzerland." 

The dinner was in a private room of the Bernerhof hotel. 
Besides those already mentioned, the Vice President and the 
Cabinet were at the table, and all made short speeches. 
Short speeches were also made by General Badeau, by Jesse 
Grant and by myself. Nearly all spoke, or at least under- 
stood, English, so the toasts were in our own tongue. Only 
the President spoke in German, thanking General Grant 
for the honor he had done the sister republic, by leaving his 
resting place in the mountains and coming to the capital. 
There was general good feeling and plenty of hilarity about 
the board. The Swiss understand the art of having a good 
time at the table. Save a few words concerning the Darien 
Canal and the Pennsylvania strike, no politics and no high 
affairs were touched on that night. 

When some specially fine cigars were passed along the 
table, General Grant helped himself, and smiled in a way 
that said, "Now I am indeed happy." 

At midnight, the guest rose and made a move as if about 
to speak again. The President rapped on his wine glass 
for attention. "Hear, hear," said one or two guests, and 
every eye turned to where General Grant was standing. To 
our surprise, he simply bowed to the President, said good- 
night, and quietly walked out of the room. 

August, i8y/. — Bankruptcy seems to be threatening 
everywhere in Switzerland this summer ; not here only, but 
everywhere else. The worst times, the people say, in a 
hundred years. To make it ten times worse, the horrible war 
between Russia and Turkey is developing into Turkish mas- 
sacres of innocent people. There is nothing in Swiss news- 



-A^'y 





»«^, 



'^^^. 



)^^' 




yt^i. 






m 



^^'"^'y^'^v 



CHRISTMAS 137 

papers now save war news, and on the streets men talk of 
little else, fearing all Europe ma'y yet explode. It is the 
sentiment here that this war, with all its atrocities, can be 
laid at England's door, that it is from her that Turkish as- 
sassins get their encouragement and help. 

December, i8yy. — The reports of losses in the war con- 
tinue fearful. Seven thousand men were destroyed at 
Plevna, in thirty-five minutes. Our American armies knev*r 
little of such sudden destruction. Fifty thousand and more 
on both sides were shot at Gettysburg, but the fight lasted 
two or three days. At luka, my own regiment (the Fifth 
Iowa) lost 217 out of only 482 engaged, pretty nearly every 
other man killed or wounded, in an hour. Plevna was not 
much worse than that. One cannot help, too, thinking of 
the English at Jellabad, where only one man out of sixteen 
thousand got away alive. No wonder the better sense of a 
people opposes war. 

Christmas, iSyj. — Like everybody else in Switzerland, we 
had a ^^tree" last night. Twenty children besides our own 
little ones, and some Swiss friends, were present. Naturally 
all was done in the Swiss way. The tree, immense in size, 
had its one hundred and one candles, its drooping chains of 
silver and gold tinsel, its little gorgeous colored ornaments 
of metal and glass, and its white cotton snowflakes. The 
tree stood in the consulate. The folding doors to our apart- 
ment opened up for the purpose. Nothing is on the tree 
but ornaments and lights. The gifts are on a side table. 
The bell rings; Kris Kringle, robed, and jingling with bells, 
bounds in. The children are absolutely in a paradise of 
joy, and the joy of the grown folks, on hearing the exclama- 
tions of delight, is scarcely less. The servants get a great 
proportion of the presents, for these gifts are a part of the 
wages. Pretty soon all join hands, grown folks and children 
and servants, and circle about the tree singing 

"Christ is born, 
Christ is born." 



138 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

What a happy time it is! It is Christmas night all the 
time for a week, in Switzerland. There is nothing but 
good times and joy. Families come together, and far-wan- 
dering sons come home for the glad reunion. I have known 
young men to cross the Atlantic from New York, just to be 
in the dear, old home for a week in the Christmas time. 

The Christmas lights shine in every house, the villa of 
the rich, the cottage of the poor. A Christmas tree is in 
every home. No rich man would go to bed and sleep, know- 
ing some poor child had no Christmas tree. The public 
squares and side streets are filled with green trees for sale. 
A happy smile is on every face, and a "Gott griiss euch," 
on every lip. 

That one week of comradeship and kindly feeling does as 
much to bring peace on earth and goodwill to men, in Swit- 
zerland, as does the church itself. It is religion mixed 
with joy. 

We are back on the lake again at Kiissnacht, and such 
moonlight nights ! Occasionally American friends come out 
by boat, to see us at Wangensbach, and walk home, the six 
miles, in the moonlight. The little, white, clean roads along 
the lake shore are perfect, and a delight to walk on. Will 
America ever know what a road is? We excel in almost 
everything else, why cannot we do this one thing? Nothing 
to-day would make the American people so happy, so pros- 
perous, as good roads. People of Switzerland save millions 
and millions yearly by their fine turnpikes. 

The other day I got orders from Washington to go to 
Bern and take charge of the legation as acting Charge 
d'Affaires, during the absence of Mr. Nicholas Fish, going 
home on a furlough. Mr. Fish is a son of Grant's Secretary 
of State, Hamilton Fish, and is as accomplished and zealous 
in affairs of diplomacy as his father is in statesmanship. 

I have an American friend who calls at the office at 2 p. 
M. every day now, to tell me in detail all the war news that 



MAGAZINE ARTICLES 139 

I have just finished reading in the papers. It requires an 
hour, but he does it up thoroughly, and this, of all things, 
has made me wish the war would hurry to a close. But 
are not Consuls paid to listen to their countrymen some- 
times ? 

While at home last winter, I arranged to continue writing 
articles for some of the magazines, and the labor makes 
pleasant employment for leisure hours. Many reports for 
the Government, too, on all conceivable subjects, continue 
to be asked for and are printed as fast as sent in. They are 
the result of a good deal of careful looking about. 



CHAPTER XVI 
1877 

FRANZ LISZT AT ZURICH — SWISS, GREAT LOVERS OF MUSIC — 
WAGNER ONCE LIVED HERE — HIS SINGULAR WAYS — DR. 
WILLI — MADAME LUCCA's VILLA — LISZT's KISSING BEES — 
JEFFERSON DAVIS' DAUGHTER — A LAUGHABLE MISTAKE. 

September, iSyj. — The Swiss have almost as much love 
for music as the Italians, though they have no composers of 
great reputation. Every city, town, and hamlet has its 
Music Guilds and clubs. The whole male population seems 
to sing. There are many fine instrumental performers 
among the women, but few good singers. The male bird 
is the vocalist here. Zurich is a center for great concerts, 
oratorios, etc., where Europe's greatest artists appear. The 
*'Tonhalle" orchestra is one of the best in Europe. These 
are the men who first rehearsed and played Wagner's earlier 
operas. Seven years of Wagner's life were spent in Zurich, 
in exile. The people here still talk of his singular ways as a 
citizen. Zurich was then, as now, a Wagner-music loving 
place, even at a time when London and Paris would not 
listen to a Wagner opera. 

My friend here, Schulz-Beuthen, himself a composer, is 
the happy possessor of Wagner's old piano, at which he 
composed some of his immortal works. 

Wagner was poor when in Zurich, and lived by writing 
musical criticisms. For his own music, there was no sale. 
He had one or two rich friends here, however, notably the 
Wiesendoncks and the Willis, who encouraged not only his 
music, but a most singular method he had of getting rid of 

(140) 



LISZT'S KISSING BEES 141 

debts. It was a pretty way he had of calling on these opulent 
friends and, by the merest accident, leaving his grocer's, 
tailor's or hostler's bills lying on the drawing-room table. 
His kind friends naturally discovered the missives, and 
quietly paid them. It was a little joke whispered about that 
the number of Wagner's calls at rich men's houses was 
entirely numbered by the bills he was owing. All the same, 
he had rather good times by the beautiful lake. 

Dr. Willi had Wagner one whole season at his lakeside 
home. Just across the lake was the villa of the Wiesen- 
doncks, and Wagner kept a little boat very busy, carrying 
his operatic "Motives" back and forth between his kind 
musical patrons. 

Every now and then the "Tonhalle" has a red letter 
day. It is when artists like Sarasate play the violin, or 
when Franz Liszt or Rubinstein is at the piano. 

Last week Franz Liszt was here. It was a great occa- 
sion, though not his first visit. At the close of the afternoon 
concert, I noticed many of the ladies gathered about him to 
have him kiss them, as he stood down in an aisle among the 
seats, holding an impromptu reception. Pretty soon they 
had him seated. They could get at him better that way. 
The men had little chance that afternoon, though in the 
evening I was one of those who had the honor of being pre- 
sented to him. He received me very kindly, and spoke of 
certain clever Americans who had been pupils of his. 

I had had a glimpse of him the morning before. Being an 
early riser, I was, as usual, down walking by the lake, near 
to the celebrated Baur-an-lac hotel. I happened to glance 
toward a window of the hotel that I heard open. I saw 
an astounding looking figure in a white night dress, lean- 
ing far out of the window, looking at the mountains. It 
was a great, smooth, ash-colored face that might have repre- 
sented Charity in marble, set in a frame of long, white, silken 
hair. I knew from pictures that it was Franz Liszt, and so 
stopped and gazed. 



142 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

I never saw so striking a picture of a human being before. 
His figure in its loose gown nearly filled the window. His 
great eyes seemed to be shining a "good morning" to the 
lake and the mountains. It was the face of genius, illumin- 
ated and happy by the beauty of the morning and the glory 
of the scene. 

I should like to have heard Franz Liszt sit down and 
improvise a fantasia at the piano, the moment he left that 
window. I am sure there would have been tones born of 
the morning, for his whole face reflected the powerful emo- 
tion within him. I wondered to myself that evening, when 
he was holding the vast audience in the charm of his music, 
if he were not thinking of that fair scene from his window 
in the morning. 

When the concert was over the other night, a few friends 
gathered with Franz Liszt in a little back room of the 
"Tonhalle." There was a little dinner and much cham- 
pagne. And there was much bowing and kissing and get- 
ting down before this king of the piano. Men and women 
absolutely got down on their knees and kissed his hand, as 
if he were an object of adoration. 

It was not exactly getting down before a "totem pole," 
though almost as extravagant, for there were nobler ways of 
worshiping the genius of music than by being ridiculous. 
The great master, though, was used to that sort of thing — 
in fact, rather liked it — and so went on with his wine and his 
kisses till midnight, adding to the delight of his worship- 
ers by at last seating himself at the piano and playing one 
of his own compositions.* 

Another artist with world-wide reputation, who summers 
about Lake Zurich even now, is Madame Lucca, the prima 
donna. She owns beautiful Villa Goldenberg at the upper 
end of the lake. I often see her about town, on foot, 
shopping. 



* It was almost his last public performance. 



JEFF DAVIS' DAUGHTER 143 

One day as I was passing "Goldenberg" on the steamer, 
I pointed to it, remarking to a fine-looking German with 
whom I was conversing, that it was "one of the prettiest 
spots of all." ''Yes," he answered, "I have never regretted 
owning it." "Owning it," I exclaimed; "why Madame 
Lucca lives there, and I supposed she owned it." "So she 
does," he answered smilingly, as he gave me a little nudge ; 
"so she does, but I own her. I am her husband." 

I meet many well-known characters in my frequent trips 
up and down the lake. 

One evening lately, as I sat on the steamer deck, nearing 
my home at Kiissnacht, a rather prepossessing young lady 
inquired of me in English if that were the home of William 
Tell. After a little conversation she walked to the bow of 
the boat, and the middle-aged lady who seemed to be her 
companion, said to me : "Do you know who that is you were 
talking with ? That is the daughter of Jefferson Davis." 

Pretty soon the girl, came back, and I had the pleasure 
of communicating a bit of news to her that must have been 
of interest. I had read in the telegrams, that very day, of 
some famous admirer in America presenting to her father 
the magnificent estate of Bellevoir, on the Mississippi. 

Amusing incidents occur, too, almost daily, from Ameri- 
can travelers, going up and down the lake, supposing me to 
be a native, not acquainted with the American tongue. They 
are sometimes very free in their remarks about people they 
see on the boat. ^ 

The other evening, while sitting on the deck on my way 
home, I noticed a little party of three ladies and a gentleman, 
excitedly wringing their hands, talking English, and won- 
dering what on earth they would do. They had lost the 
name of the place they were going to, and could not tell 
even how to get home again. Not a soul on the boat spoke a 
word of English ; they were sure of that. 

"Notice that man sitting there with a newspaper," said 
the gentleman of the party, indicating myself. "Kate, you 



144 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

talk a little German," he went on ; "try your Dutch on him." 
"Not for the world," answered the lady appealed to. "That 
might be a prince, or a baron, or somebody." "Well, his 
clothes don't look like it, anyway," chirped in a second of 
the young ladies. "Did you ever see such an unfashionable 
necktie in your life?" "An odd looking genius that, any- 
way. I would not be afraid of him." "Go right up to him 
and blurt it out ; he's good natured, I'll bet a dollar," chimed 
in the gentleman. "Never mind his necktie; it's informa- 
tion we're after." "Yes, but my German — I don't know," 
said the lady; "I don't know three words, and you know 
I don't." "Oh ! go on — nonsense — walk right up to him, 
and see how pretty he'd smile on you," said all three. 

She cleared her throat, and approached me, and in a few 
unintelligible words of bad German, spoke. I did smile, 
and answered her in plain American English, remarking 
that I had noticed that her party were Americans. 

There was a sudden collapse of spirits, a queer winking 
and nudging of each other, and an inclination to walk away 
to the other end of the boat. 

As I was leaving the steamer, the gentleman returned to 
me. "Excuse me, sir," said he, "but you astonished our little 
party. May I not ask where on earth you, a Swiss, learned 
such perfect English? It is almost American." "Oh! in 
knocking about the country here," I answered, "and I see 
lots of Americans on the steamer and, when they talk, espe- 
cially if it is about me, I always listen to them. Good- 
night." 

I suppose that little quartette still think about the Swiss 
they met, with the queer necktie, who spoke the American 
English. 



CHAPTER XVII 

1878 

SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF MINE ABOUT GENERAL GRANT IN 
THE WAR — GRANT AT CHAMPION HILLS — SHERMAN's LET- 
TER ON CONFISCATION BY TAXATION IN AMERICA SILVER 

NO ''cure all'' — GRANT AT RAGATZ — I GIVE A BANQUET IN 
HIS HONOR AT ZURICH. 

January, 18/8. — To-day made New Year's calls on some 
American friends ; but it is not customary among the Swiss. 

Received copies of my "Recollections of Grant and Sher- 
man," printed in the Philadelphia Times. It so happened 
that I had seen General Grant often in the Vicksburg cam- 
paign, and he personally directed a charge made by our 
brigade at the battle of Champion Hills. The battle had 
been going on for some time, when he rode up close behind 
the line of my regiment. He dismounted from his bay horse 
and stood within a few yards of where I was in the line, 
leaning on my gun. He was under a heavy fire of musketry, 
and we boys all feared for his life. There was some sus- 
pense, before the order to "charge" was given. My com- 
pany stood there in line on the green grass, just as it did 
on the village green in Newton, the morning we started for 
the war. Grant leaned against his horse and smoked, and 
looked simply as a man would, who had a little piece of 
tough business before him to consider. Aides rode up to 
him and rode away. He spoke to them in a low voice, that 
even I, who was so close to him, could not hear. The 
awful musketry rattle of terrific combat was a little to the 
left and right of us, and there was no great noise immedi- 

(145; 
10 



146 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

ately in our front ; but well we all knew that ten thousand 
rebels were over there in the timber, waiting our advance. 
There was no cannonading of our line, as we stood there 
unresistingly, feeling the shots from their rifles, and firing 
not a shot in return. Grant was not quite ready. I saw 
him glance, I thought half pityingly, at a few of our 
wounded who were carried back past him, and he looked 
very close at one man near me who was shot in the leg and 
who limped past him to the rear. I think he recognized his 
face, but he did not speak to him. He spoke to none of us ; 
there was no posing, no sword waving, or hat swinging. I 
have almost forgotten if he even had a sword on. None 
but those near by knew that he was within a mile of us. It 
was just a little plain business he was then looking after, 
but I know some of us wished he would go out of range of 
the bullets. 

Shortly I saw our colonel walk back to him. There were 
a few nods and low words, and as the colonel passed me 
returning, he said to me : 'T want you to act as Sergeant 
Major." (I was with Company B). "Run to the left of 
the regiment and yell, 'Fix bayonets.' " I ran as ordered, 
crying all the time *Tix bayonets." Glancing back, I saw 
Grant mounting his horse. That instant I heard all the of- 
ficers yelling, ''Double quick T — ''Charge T 

We went into the woods and over the rough ground on 
the run, the bullets of the enemy all the time coming into 
us like hail. Suddenly, there was in front of us and all 
around us, a terrific roar of cannon. For nearly two mortal 
hours, we stood in battle line in that wood, and emptied our 
rifles into the rebel line of gray as fast as we could load 
them. They did not seem 200 yards away, though the 
battle smoke soon partly hid them. We carried muzzle- 
loading Whitney rifles and forty cartridges. In my regi- 
ment, every man's cartridge box was emptied, and some of 
us took cartridges from the bodies of the dead. A third of 
my command were shot. 



SILVER NO '*CURE-ALL'^ 147 

When it was all over and nearly dark, we were out on 
the Black river road, resting. General Grant came riding 
up to where our flags hung on the guns, and stopped. We 
all jumped up out of the dust to cheer ; some one caught up 
the flag and held it in front of his horse. He simply smiled, 
and said to the colonel, "Good for the Fifth Iowa," and then 
rode off into the darkness. 

February, 1878. — Hard times is still the cry everywhere 
in Europe. A letter from General Sherman shows that 
now at last our people are finding out what the Civil War 
cost us, in the way of dollars and cents. 

"Washington, D. C., Jan. 17, 1878. 

"Dear Byers : — I have just received your letter of Janu- 
ary 3d, with your clipping from the London News, for 
which I am much obliged. I had previously received the 
letter of December 28th, which I had taken down to my 
rooms for the perusal of Mrs. Sherman, who is a more reli- 
able correspondent than I am. She and EUy are here from 
St. Louis for a visit, and will probably remain all of Febru- 
ary, to enjoy the social advantages of the capital, now at 
their height. Though everybody is crying at the hard times, 
yet extravagance in dress and living has not received a 
quietus. I wish it was otherwise, but no single man, or set 
of men, can change the habits of a people in a day or a 
season. 

"Those who clamor for a silver coinage think it will cure 
all evils, but I am sure no measure that can be concocted 
by our legislators can change the state of facts, which is the 
necessary result of the war. Wages and prices of all things 
necessary, rose to a standard far above the real value. Now 
all must come down, and each class struggles to go right 
along as before, demanding that others must make the neces- 
sary sacrifices. Meantime also states, counties and munici- 
palities have 'improved' by spending borrowed money, 
which must now be paid, principal or interest. The cost of 



148 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Government, like all other things, has increased. Local 
taxation, to meet this cost and interest, is a burden heavier 
than property can bear, so that real property now every- 
vi^here, instead of being a source of income, is the very re- 
verse, and I do not know but that all real property in this 
great land is 'confiscate.' I know that all my property that 
used to pay me some revenue is now unable to pay its own 
taxes. I do not see how silver coinage is going to mend this, 
but such is now the cry, and in some form or other the ex- 
periment will be tried. Our papers keep us well advised as 
to the progress of the war in Turkey, and I have a good map 
at hand, which enables me to follow the movements of the 
several columns pretty well. 

"I am glad to learn that Mrs. Byers is in better health, 
and that you content yourself with what you have, for want 
of better. I hope ere your return to us, things will mend and 
prosperity once more return to Iowa and the West. 

"As ever your friend, W. T. Sherman."' 

September 21, i8y8. — Yesterday, while up on the Rigi, I 
received this telegram from General Grant : 



*I accept your invitation for Monday. 



'Grant.' 



It was in reply to an invitation of mine to a dinner party 
that I wished to give in his honor at Zurich. He had been 
stopping at Ragatz for some weeks, that beautiful resort on 
the upper Rhine. 

A Swiss paper had this little item the other day : "Among 
the crowd of fashionables at the resort of Ragatz, one does 
not notice a certain smallish, plain looking, sturdy man, 
who takes long walks alone, and who lives the simplest, 
least conspicuous life of any one there. No wonder few 
know who the quiet gentleman is. His name, possibly, is 
not even on the hotel register, but he is the first man in 
the great sister Republic beyond the sea. It is U. S. Grant." 



AN OLD SOLDIER 149 

September ^5, iSyS. — Had another telegram from Gen- 
eral Grant on the 22d, saying he would reach Zurich at 
12 136 next morning. I took train and met him at Horgen. 
Mr. Corning, the Vice Consul, went with me. Mrs. Grant 
was with her husband. No one on the train seemed to 
know of their presence. We found them sitting alone in a 
little, first class coupe. I had flowers for Mrs. Grant, and 
they both received us very kindly. We rode together to 
Zurich and talked only about Ragatz and the pretty scenes 
they had just passed. Mrs. Grant was especially enthu- 
siastic over the picturesque journey. 

A great crowd assembled about the station where we 
entered. General Grant took my arm and walked to the 
carriage. Mr. Corning escorted Mrs. Grant. Just as the 
General was stepping into the carriage, a rough-looking fel- 
low suddenly ran up, caught the General's arm and cried 
out, "You are going to speak to me, hain't you ?" There 
was a momentary fright, and thought of assassination, 
among all of us. A policeman jumped forward, swinging 
a club, to arrest him. ''Don't you never mind," the man 
cried out in English to the policeman. "I'm one of Grant's 
old soldiers." The policeman halted, seeing the General 
smile and reach his hand to the apparent ruffian. "Yes, 
General, I was with you and Johnny Logan at Vicksburg," 
the excited man exclaimed, "and look here.'* He com- 
menced rolling up his sleeve and showed a wrist shot half 
in two. The sight of that soldier's wound sent a quick 
thrill through every one of us. "The past of the nation was 
speaking there." 

The ceremony of the occasion was all forgotten. Had 
there been room, Mrs. Grant would have taken him into 
the carriage. For myself, I could have gladly walked, to 
let this wounded hero ride with his General. "Come and 
see me at my hotel," said General Grant, "and we will talk 
it all over." Again he shook the stranger soldier's hand, 
and the horses started. 



150 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

"Three cheers for General Grant," cried the soldier, 
swinging his hat to the crowd, that answered in a loud 
Swiss huzza. 

In the afternoon, Mr. Nicholas Fish, the American Min- 
ister, who had come down from the capital to be at my 
dinner, went with me to the hotel, and we took the General 
driving about the town. Mrs. Grant preferred to rest. 
We went up on the terrace in front of the University, where 
is spread out to view one of the fairest sights in the world. 
The city lay below us, in front the chain of the Albis hills, 
to the left the blue lake, and beyond it the snow mountains. 

The General was impressed! with the view, but he was 
getting used to grand scenes in Switzerland ; they are every- 
where. He looked in silence. Shortly, he commenced 
talking about the spires and towers of the city below us; 
asked the name of almost every one of them, and spent a 
long time studying out the meaning of certain big, red let- 
ters on the roof of an orphan asylum under the terrace. He 
would not give that up. He asked the different German 
names for such things, how they were spelled, and finally 
guessed the riddle that neither I nor Mr. Fish (both know- 
ing German) had been able to explain. This noticing every- 
thing and trying to solve it, is even to a greater extent a 
trait of General Sherman's. May it not be genius' method 
of intuitively making things its own? 

He examined carefully the architecture of the University 
building, and talked with Mr. Fish about his father, the 
ex-Secretary of State. There was also a little reference to 
his own youth at West Point, not far away from the Fish's 
country home. 

We went down the terrace steps. Now I noticed that 
Grant was growing old. His elasticity of movement was all 
gone. He was getting stoop shouldered, too. 

He told me of a stone quarry he had, I think in Jersey. 
*'On the continued profits of that," he said, ''depends whether 
I shall stay very long abroad, or go back home." 



DINNER TO GRANT 151 

To the dinner that night, I had invited some representa- 
tive members of the Swiss army, press, learned professions, 
etc. Colonel Voegli was there; Dr. Willi, the friend of 
Wagner; Gottfried Kinkel, the professor and poet; Orelli, 
the banker ; Feer, of the Swiss Senate ; Vogt, the journalist ; 
Mr. Fish, the American Minister; Mayor Roemer and 
others. 

It was a gentlemen's dinner. Mrs. Grant remained in 
her room, after a brief glance at the table and the flowers 
downstairs. 

It was an ideal place for a happy party. Inside the room 
the Swiss and American colors were blended, and some of 
the French dishes were rebaptized with American names 
for the occasion. 

Outside, the almost tropical garden reached out into the 
lake. There was no music in the rooms, but almost every 
one present made a little speech. General Grant not only 
answered to the toast in his honor, but in a second speech 
proposed Switzerland, and especially Zurich, which he had 
heard spoken of as a ''Swiss Athens." At no time did I 
ever see him in such good spirits. The table was not so 
large but all could plainly hear. Numbers of the guests 
addressed remarks and inquiries about our country to Gen- 
eral Grant. He answered kindly, and proposed many ques- 
tions of his own, until conversation became extremely lively. 
In short, his reputation for being no talker was smashed 
all to pieces that evening. He talked much, and he talked 
well, and was very happy ; so were all of us. The two Re- 
publics were one around that table, and we were all demo- 
crats. General Grant drank wine with the rest of us, but 
with moderation. President Hayes, he related to me, had 
a great reputation for drinking absolutely nothing but water. 
"It is a mistake," said the General, and he told me how at a 
dinner at the White House, the night before the inaugura- 
tion. President Hayes emptied his wine glass very much in 
the way that all other people did, who had no reputations 



152 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

for total abstinence. He was amused at some of the French- 
American names on the menu at his plate. I interpreted 
some of them for him, and, after the dinner, put his menu 
with its pretty picture of the lake into my breast pocket, as 
a little souvenir of the occasion. 

We separated at midnight, and the next morning some of 
the same guests and myself escorted him and Mrs. Grant to 
their train for Paris. 



CHAPTER XVIII 
1878 

THE ST. GOTHARD TUNNEL — I DESCRIBE IT FOR HARPER'S 
MAGAZINE — ITS COST — A GREAT SCARE IN THE TUNNEL. 

October, 18/8. — The great tunnel through the St. Gothard 
Alps is reaching completion. Nothing like it was ever ac- 
complished before in the world. It happens that Mr.Hellwag, 
the chief engineer of the stupendous undertaking, is a per- 
sonal friend, and he gave me every facility for visiting it. 
His courtesy and hints have helped me in preparing my ar- 
ticle for Harper's (October) Magazine. Hellwag is already 
famous as the builder of the tunnels for the Brenner pass. 
He is also the inventor of the Auger, or Spiral tunnel sys- 
tem, by which railway trains reach high elevations up tunnel 
slopes, winding around and up the inside of mountains. He 
gave me letters and permits to go everywhere, and, so far 
as I know, I am the first American to have been inside the 
tunnel. 

The undertaking of this tunnel is something vast. It 
takes the surplus cash of three governments to build it, Italy, 
Germany and Switzerland. 

The line reaches from Lake Luzern in Switzerland to 
Lake Maggiore in Italy, one hundred and eight miles. One 
hundred and twenty thousand feet of this is tunneled 
through mountains of granite. The longest tunnel in the 
series is 48,936 feet. Few of the smaller tunnels are less 
than 7,000 feet long. 

It was thought one hundred and eighty-seven million 
francs would pay for it, but two hundred and eighty-nine 

a53) 



154 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

millions are now required. It is the usual blundering in fig- 
ures that comes with most public enterprises. This par- 
ticular blundering has bankrupted thousands of innocent 
people wdio have bought shares. The extra money is now 
raised, however, and the awful barrier of granite peaks and 
fields of snow and ice, between Italy and Switzerland, is to 
be overcome by skill of man. 

There was no road over the Gothard for five hundred 
years, and not until a century ago was a vehicle of any 
kind ever seen up there. Even now, the wagon road is one 
of great peril, as I have myself experienced, a whole sledge 
load of us once barely missing being overwhelmed by an 
avalanche that fell a hundred feet ahead of us. There were 
granite boulders in that slide of snow, big as our horses, and 
the thing fell without a warning, and with a crash that was 
stupendous. Many lives have been lost in this pass; half 
the year, even now, it is abandoned entirely to the winds 
that howl among its mountains of desolation. 

The tunnel was not quite finished when I was there. 
The boring machines inside are worked by compressed air, 
furnished by enormous air compressors outside. These 
also force air in for ventilation. They compress air also for 
the peculiar locomotives that are moved by air, not steam. 

My guide and I got on the front platform of one of 
these air engines, and were shot into the tunnel for miles 
through a black cloud of smoke and gas that I thought 
would kill me, or cause me to fall of¥ the engine. It was 
Cimmerian darkness. The engineer said: "You shall 
now see a glimpse of the bowels of hell." I saw nothing 
for miles, and then suddenly we came to the weird lights, 
the big air machines boring into the granite walls, and 
the half-naked workmen. It was a gruesome picture in 
there, with the yellow lights, the racket of the machines, 
and the occasional explosion of dynamite. The water in 
places burst from the rocks in streams as big as my arm, 
and with force enough to knock the workmen from their 



THE ST. GOTHARD TUNNEL 155 

feet. At one spot, the torrent broke through fine crevices, 
at the rate of four thousand gallons a minute. A special 
canal was made under the railroad tracks, to carry this river 
of water out of the tunnel. 

I was greatly impressed, not only by the scene inside, 
but to think that at that moment avalanches were falling 
five thousand feet above our heads, storms were raging 
among the cold peaks up there, and a rapid mountain river 
was rushing right along over us. It seemed a perilous place. 
Indeed, it was often feared that some mighty torrent might 
be struck suddenly, some day, and destroy every life in 
the tunnel. 

Far in, where the compressed air left the pipes, the 
ventilation seemed better, but it would kill most men to 
stay in there at all for any length of time. It is well known 
that the health of these unfortunate workmen is being 
ruined. An early death stares every one of them in the 
face. 

Something is always threatening to happen, and my 
conductor relates an incident that shows how easily alarm 
sets in. He was one day walking along in the half dark- 
ness, inspecting something near the mouth of the tunnel, 
when he heard far behind him what sounded like the 
tramping of a herd of buffalo, or the bursting of a torrent. 
Suddenly, he saw quick moving lights and heard human 
voices. Whatever it could be, exploding gas, demons, or 
torrent, it was rushing towards him like an avalanche. He 
jumped into a niche at the side of the tunnel, to save his. 
life. Then he heard the cry, 'The mine, the mine! run 
for your life!" He, too, then ran till he broke down and 
saw the terrible army of half-naked, begrimed men, with 
the coal lamps on their heads, rush by him in terror. A 
jutting rock had saved his life, but the herd of men, still 
screaming "gas," ''the mine," "run, run !" tumbled over 
each other and tramped each other down, till the mouth 
of the tunnel was reached. 



156 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

When my informant picked himself up, and went down 
to the company's offices, he found the whole crowd ges- 
ticulating and talking loudly. There had been no "explo- 
sion" — no "mine" — no "gas." It was simply a strike. The 
leaders had adopted this plan to scare everybody out of the 
tunnel. 

The next day, and the next, the strikers refused to either 
work or disperse. They were trying "the dog in the man- 
ger" system of the United States strikers, neither working 
nor letting work. A regiment of militia was sent there, and, 
unlike American militia, did their duty. A very few 
musket volleys, and the poor, deluded strikers went away, 
though a good many staid there in their blood. 



CHAPTER XIX 
1879 

AMERICAN ARTISTS AT MUNICH — I MEET MARK TWAIN — 
TAKE HIM TO AN ARTISTS' CLUB — CONVERSATIONS WITH 

HIM — BEER DRINKING HE READS THE ORIGINAL OF 

''what I KNOW ABOUT THE GERMAN LANGUAGE^' — WE 
ENTERTAIN THE AMERICANS AT ZURICH — A LETTER FROM 
GENERAL SHERMAN — CONFEDERATES MORE POPULAR THAN 
UNION MEN — SHERMAN READY TO SURRENDER. 

February i, iSyg. — Spent part of January in Munich, 
and very much of the time among the studios of the Amer- 
ican artists. There are not less than fifty of our country- 
men here, either practicing art or learning it. 

Frank Duveneck (later widely known) had a large class 
of devoted students, who were also his followers in a style 
of painting peculiar to himself. There was a strong belief 
that he was a man of genius, but he spent much time 
teaching, when he ought to have been painting. Duveneck's 
students followed him later to Florence, where I saw them 
again. 

Chase was also at Munich at this time. I can imagine 
no city more desirable for a student of art. The social 
atmosphere breathes of art; the galleries, of course, are 
unsurpassed. There are plenty of teachers — and models are 
plenty, and all very cheap. 

I was introduced to Carl Piloty, head of the Academy of 
Arts. It was on the street a friend and I met him. The 
day was cold, the wind blowing. There could be little 
conversation. He wore a big paletot wrapped about him, 
and his face and head were so covered that I could not 

(157) 



158 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

tell what he looked like. Saw him the same evening on 
the platform in the academy, posing models for the students. 
There was great enthusiasm for him. 

Like most strangers, we visited the famous breweries, 
and at the "Hof Brauerei" waded around over the wet, 
stone floors and helped ourselves to beer, as was the custom. 
The place was full of loud-talking people, with many 
soldiers among them, some sitting at tables with schooners 
of beer before them, others carrying their beer glasses about 
with them as they gesticulated together in groups. A band 
played all the time. It was to me a wet, noisy, half-lighted, 
disagreeable place; but it was ''the thing" to go there and 
help yourself to the world-renowned beer. 

This brewery, too, is a great place, where one can see 
German types of many curious kinds, and know what Ger- 
man beer-drinking really is. As we came out into the 
court, we were near being drowned by some careless em- 
ployee's turning loose several barrels of dirty water, from a 
spout over the doorway. Some soldiers in the vicinity 
laughed at the speed with which we escaped the flood of 
beer and water. 

Out in the street we noticed a not uncommon Munich 
sight. It was a little parade of University students in 
open carriages. They wore their corps uniforms of high 
boots, jaunty caps, and ribbon across the breast. Some 
of them held aloft a schooner of beer. The front seat, 
or the place of honor, in each carriage was occupied by 
a stately bull-dog, arrayed in ribbons and brass collar. 

The great bronze foundry was a place that entertained us 
greatly. The method of casting statues and monuments 
was explained to us, and the copies of noted American 
figures they had cast at different times, now in the exhibi- 
tion room, made us feel very proud. 

It was a group of great men who long ago won for our 
country the respect of the world. There is not a spot in 
America, or elsewhere, where one can see more of American 



KING OTTO'S FREAKS 159 

genius represented in one room than is seen here in the 
museum of this foundry. 

The sights of the city were not so different from the 
sights of other cities. King Otto drove by us a time or two 
on his way to that wonderful palace of his, with its gardens 
and lake and swans, and all that, up in the top of the build- 
ing. 

One of his Cabinet had spent a summer with us at Ob- 
stalden, in Switzerland. His family invited us to a little 
lunch, where we could talk much about the King; but it 
had to be in a complimentary way, for these good people 
saw nothing of what everybody else saw — that is, that he 
was a very unique personage, and probably going crazy. 
All the world, though, has been glad that he was sane 
enough to give it Wagner, for without Otto's long and 
splendid patronage, Wagner's music would still have been 
"a music of the future." 

One of King Otto's freaks is his wonderful fairy castle, 
built high up in the Bavarian Alps. When the snow is 
deep on the mountains, and the wind blows, he goes sleigh- 
riding late at night, and quite alone, in his wonderful 
sleigh. This sleigh is a gorgeous little coupe on runners. 
Inside, it is all cushions, luxury and shining lights. Out- 
side, it is illuminated too, and when the mountaineers hear 
the jingling of bells late at midnight, and see the apparition 
passing, they cross themselves, and say: "God keep King 
Otto in his right mind." 

We heard Wagner's operas given by his own trained or- 
chestra, almost nightly. They were so long as to be abso- 
lutely fatiguing, and made me wonder if this craze for his 
music is not in part affectation. Enough is enough of 
anything. We went to bed nights, tired to death ; but "it 
was the thing" to hear Wagner to the end, so we heard. 

I think few things interested me so much in Munich as 
to stand and look at the river Iser. It was full, and dark, 



160 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

and rapid, and great cakes of broken ice floated past. I 
thought of that night at Hohenhnden 

When dark as Winter was the flow 
Of Iser rolHng rapidly. 

Later, as a souvenir of the visit, we bought a httle paint- 
ing by Wex, representing a pretty scene on the upper Iser 
River. 

One of the pleasant incidents of the Munich visit was 
the meeting with Mark Twain. I copy a few lines from 
my diary: 

Saw Mark Twain several times, and one night had the 
pleasure of taking him to the American Artists' Club. The 
young men had insisted on my asking him to come and make 
a speech. I went to his apartments, near my own, and 
together we walked clear across the city. It must have 
been miles, but I was glad of it. He talked all the way, 
not with the humor that has made him famous, but in 
an earnest, thoughtful, sincere mood. He told me how he 
did his literary work, when in Munich. *T hire a room," 
said he, ''away off in some obscure quarter of the town, 
far away from where we live; where no one, not even 
Mrs. Clemens, could find me. The people who let the room 
do not know who I am. I go there mornings, stay all day, 
and work till evening. When at my book-writing, I never 
sleep a wink, no matter how many days or weeks the 
undertaking. It is now two weeks since I have slept one 
single hour." I wondered such a life was not killing him. 

As we trudged along under the lamp lights of the streets, 
we had much small talk of the West, of the time when 
he was young and when he was "roughing it." I amused 
him by relating how I kept a copy of his "Roughing It" 
at the consulate, to lend to travelers who came along with 
the "hypo" and like afflictions. 

Something was said of certain American writers, recently 



MARK TWAIN 161 

sprung to fame. I mentioned a letter Charles Dickens, just 
before his death, wrote to Bret Harte. The letter, in fact, 
only reached Harte after Dickens* death, and was followed 
by Harte's beautiful verses, "Dickens in Camp." 

''Dickens could well afford to write nice letters to Bret 
Harte," said he, "for he has no more faithful admirer and 
student, and he has adopted the Englishman's style. Why 
not? He could not find a better model, and even as great 
a genius as Balzac boasted of his dependence on the style 
of Victor Hugo. Solomon, when he said there was nothing 
new, meant also there were no new literary styles under 
the sun, either." 

My own belief is that Bret Harte's short California 
sketches are better than anything Dickens ever wrote. 

When we reached the new art room that night, the 
artists and students were already assembled, and were sit- 
ting at a couple of long tables, drinking beer and smoking. 
An enormous schooner full of beer stood at every plate, 
and the smoke in the room was almost thick enough to 
slice up and carry out. 

The students all rose as we entered, and gave Mark 
Twain a little cheer. As he hung his overcoat up in the 
corner, he took from the pocket an enormous roll of manu- 
script. The young men saw it, and possibly began to tremble 
a little. "Don't be alarmed," he cried out, holding the 
mighty roll up to their view. "I don't intend to read all 
this." The place of honor at the center of one of the tables 
was waiting him, and the largest beer schooner of all stood 
in front of it. I was amazed to see him empty it almost 
before he sat down. "Let's have some beer, gentlemen," 
he said laughing, and schooner after schooner came and 
disappeared. 

The paper was "What I Know About the German Lan- 
guage." It was the first time this now famous bit of humor 
saw the light. It did not seem to me so very funny in 
itself, but his way of reading it made it exceedingly droll. 
11 



162 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

When he had finished, every one had something equally 
ridiculous to tell of the bulls and blunders of ignorant 
Teutons writing English. Some had received wonderful 
letters that bordered on uttermost farce. Mark Twain 
begged possession of all these fool epistles, and possibly 
made his paper funnier than before from their contents. 

The smoke, and the beer, and the jokes went on till mid- 
night. In fact, these beer drinking Americans could beat 
a Heidelberg students' ''Kneipe" all to pieces, and Mark 
Twain did not propose to be left wholly in the rear. 

At last, we all shook hands and started homewards. It 
was a good hour's walk he and I had before us, but the 
cool night air was refreshing. For my own part, I was glad 
to get out of the dense smoke, and have a chance to talk 
alone with the humorist. 

I liked Mark Twain. He is a small, slight man, with 
big, blue eyes and a great shock of reddish hair. He has 
a habit of saying "Thank you kindly." He has youth yet, 
lots of money and a very pretty wife. 

February 2j. — On coming back from Munich, wrote a 
paper about the Iser. Also wrote for the Atlantic Monthly 
the account of my experiences inside Atlanta. 

Last evening we had all the Americans who are in town 
at our home, celebrating Washington's birthday. A few 
Swiss and German friends were also with us — among the 
Germans the family of Director Witt. These were among 
our first and truest friends abroad. We have spent whole 
summers together at Bocken, Wangensbach and elsewhere, 
and we are god parents to one of the little girls. Numbers 
of guests made speeches last night. Sure it is, the flag never 
seems so dear to Americans as when they can touch it with 
their hands in a foreign land. Kinkel, the poet, and his 
wife and son also, were present. 

April, i8yp. — There are a million Northern soldiers still 
living in the United States who were true to the Union, 
and yet the United States Senate elects a clerk whose prin- 



CONFEDERATE OFFICERS 163 

cipal recommendation is disloyalty to his country. It seems 
to me a nation is in danger of collapse that can not tell its 
friends from its enemies. . 

General Sherman writes thus of the situation : 

"Washington, D. C, March 2.2, 1879. 
"Dear Byers: — I was glad to receive your letter this 
morning, and have sent it down to Mrs. Sherman, who is al- 
ways glad to see your letters. And now without waiting, 
will answer your inquiries. We are still here in Washington 
at the Ebbitt House, Mrs. Sherman, Elly, Rachel and I. 
Cumpsey is at Baltimore at school, and Mrs. Sherman goes 
over quite often to look after him. Minnie lives in St. 
Louis, and at this minute of time Lizzie is there also on 
a visit. I took Elly and Lizzie with me South, but on 
our return, as I was somewhat in a hurry and could not 
well take St. Louis in my route, Lizzie switched off in 
West Tennessee and went straight to St. Louis. We hear 
from her daily. All are well there. I suppose you, in com- 
mon with others, may have seen reports of the illness and 
death of General and Mrs. T. W. Sherman, but I suppose 
you recognized the difference of initials. It was another 
General Sherman, who was on the Army Retired List, 
who died last week at Newport, R. I. Politics are now aw- 
fully mixed. We have an extra session of Congress in 
which the Democrats have majorities in both branches, 
and the Southern members, mostly all Confederate officers, 
are in the majority of the Democrats, and thus rule all. So 
at this minute the rebels have conquered us, and we are 
at their mercy. Who would have thought this in 1865? 
Our paper announced yesterday the election of a clerk of 
the Senate, with the recommendation that 'he had served 
faithfully on Lee's staff.' Little by little it has come about, 
and we find that it is popular to have belonged to the 
Confederate Army, and correspondingly suspicious to have 
served in the Union Army. Popular revolutions are hard 



164 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

to comprehend. For this reason I hold myself ready to 
surrender when called on, which may be at any day. 

"My trip South was pleasant and I am glad I made it. 
Of course I confined myself to purely social matters. Love 
to Mrs. Byers and the children. 

''Yours truly, W. T. Sherman."" 



CHAPTER XX 
1879 

A TRIP THROUGH THE BLACK FOREST STEIN ON THE RHINE 

A FAMOUS CASTLE "'aLL BLOWN UP'' GOOD ROADS 

FOX HUNTING. 

June 4, i8yp. — Two weeks since, friends invited us to 
accompany them on an extended drive through the Black 
Forest. Such a drive, through charming scenery, and with 
perfect June weather, was a pleasure nobody thought of 
declining. 

We entered the Black Forest at Stein on the Rhine, and 
staid all night there. The scenery of the fair Rhine, the 
ancient castles, the picturesque hills, and the little town 
with its architecture of an age long past, gave us great 
enjoyment. The still perfect castle of Hohenklingen, far 
up on the rocks above us, is a thousand years old. This 
would be a spot for romance and poetry. 

Long years ago I was here in Stein, but passing years 
make no change in the perfectly romantic appearance of the 
place. 

Very shortly we were in the midst of what in earlier times 
was only a vast forest, dangerous for travelers to enter. 
Even now, away from the old towns and villages, the clean, 
white highway winds among forests of pine trees whose 
resinous odor is delightful to the senses. The woods are 
full of game, and at rare intervals we see a fox. 

Parts of these vast woods are owned by rich landlords 
who hold them as "game preserves," and who lease them out 
to lovers of the hunt in the cities of Switzerland and Ger- 
many. 

(165) 



166 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Many a delightful and exciting time have I had with 
my friends, the Witts or the Schwarzenbachs, hunting foxes 
and deer in those same Black Forest woods. 

Usually we came with our guns on the train, to the ham- 
let of Singen. The gamekeeper would meet us at the 
station, and the next morning he had a dozen peasants 
beating the bush for us, while we stood like sentinels, at 
obscure hidden pathways in the woods, waiting to fire on the 
fleeing game. Those who could shoot at all, had good luck 
always. At noon, servants would bring baskets of lunch, 
including good wine, from the village to us. A rousing 
fire was made of brushwood, the slaughtered hares, deer, 
pheasants and foxes were put in piles to look at, and then a 
picnic was enjoyed such as only hunters with appetites 
dream of. There was more chasing again in the afternoon. 
Often a friend who owned an old-time castle on the hills 
near by took us home with him, when a night was made 
of it — such a night as must have made some of his an- 
cestors (whose bones lay under the floor at our feet, in the 
big hall) wish themselves alive again. 

Our friends took us from Stein to Hohentwyl, one of the 
greatest castle ruins in the world. It must have been an 
imposing sight in the Middle Ages. It sits like a high and 
isolated island on the level land in the Duchy of Baden. 
Yet it belongs to another kingdom (Wiirtemberg). Once, 
at the close of a war, the conqueror left it to the conquered, 
just for sweet honor's sake, and for the brave fighting of 
its defenders. 

One wonders now how the princes and peasants of these 
valleys were rich enough to build such stupendous affairs. 
The peasants are poor here, now. What were they in the 
Middle Ages, with a baron and his castle sitting on every 
Hill? 

This particular castle, however, dating from the ninth 
century, was built and owned by rich German lords. Once 
it was the home of the beautiful Duchess Hadwig, the 



^'ALL BLOWN UP'' 167 

heroine of "Ekkehard," that most beautiful of German 
novels. 

I must relate a joke. Mrs. C and my wife had 

been conducted over the vast ruins one forenoon. In the 
afternoon, I climbed on to the rocky height where the castle 
sits. When I rang at the castle door, the guide who came 
seemed to have spent his last pourboire for whisky. He 
showed me to the main tower, remarking in bad and mud- 
dled Dutch that it was once great, but the 'Trench Army 
had blown it all up — all up." He walked ahead of me, 
constantly smoking and muttering to himself — ''Yes — Ja, 
by Gott! blown up — all blown up." Each wall or tower 
or room he conducted me to, was "great," but he quickly 
added "blown up." I wondered where the ladies were, 
and inquired of my maudlin guide if he had seen two 
women that afternoon, with dark dresses and white para- 
sols. "Js./' he answered, "saw them" — paused a moment, 
took his cob out of his mouth and continued — "all blozvn 
up." 

The French invasion of some old century had been too 
much for him. He had talked of it and the exploded castle 
until he could think of nothing else, and as he closed the 
door behind, looking at the little coin I had dropped into his 
hand, I heard him mutter, "Ja. — all blozvn up." 

June 8. — As we drive through out of the way places, and 
to unfrequented hamlets in the Black Forest, far away 
from railroads, we find a simplicity of life that possibly has 
changed little in centuries. 

Living is very cheap. We never pay more than twenty 
cents for breakfast. The brooks are all full of delicious 
trout, and at wayside inns they take them right out of the 
brook for us, and charge but a trifle for all we can eat. 

The scene is everywhere entirely different from Switzer- 
land; yet the green hills, the great woods, the white roads, 
the flash of hundreds of bright waterfalls, the village church 



168 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

towers, with a stork's nest on the top of every one, are 
almost as interesting to us as the Alps themselves. 

Often when our showy equipage passed some farm, the 
peasants stopped work and stood stock still, leaning on their 
hoes and looking at us. Many men doff their caps and the 
women courtesy, guessing no doubt, from the showy four- 
horse drag, it was the Kaiser himself passing. 

The seclusion of the old, old hamlets in the woods, the 
quiet everywhere, almost makes us lonesome. 

Yesterday we were invited to visit a big farmhouse a 
little distance from the road. The owner was a rich bauer — 
"very rich," his neighbors said. Yet, his big, good-looking 
daughter in wooden shoes and very short petticoats, was 
engaged in cleaning out the stables. She came to us with 
the big stable fork in her hand, and in the most agreeable 
way showed us about the place. She was all smiles and 
jokes and good humor. She was "smart" too. I thought 
of "M'liss" in one of Bret Harte's stories. 

We saw an enormous fire-place in the kitchen, without 
any chimney. The smoke simply ascended, or tried to 
ascend, through a pyramid of boards. The room was too 
much for us. "Don't the smoke hurt your eyes terribly?" 
said my wife to the girl's mother, as she wiped the tears 
away and tried to get her breath. "Oh! yes," answered 
the good woman, "it's terrible on the eyes, but just splen- 
did for smoking hams." 

At many places along the country roads, we passed chil- 
dren with baskets, gathering the manure up from the high- 
ways. This they carry into their father's fields. But every 
twig, stick or stone that can deface a white smooth road, is 
gathered up and taken away. Each farmer, for certain 
fixed distances along the highway, is a "care taker" of the 
road, and his little income from his farm is increased by a 
small allowance from the public treasury. 

In the vicinity of Friberg, with its wonderful waterfalls 



BEAUTIFUL SCENERY 169 

and green mountains, we see as beautiful scenery as the 
heart could wish. 

Little of the Black Forest life or scenery is even guessed 
at by a traveler on the train. The characteristic things of 
continental life in general are no longer on the routes of 
public travel. 



CHAPTER XXI 
1879 

BRET HARTE — LETTERS FROM HIM — VISITS US — STAY AT 

BOCKEN — CONVERSATIONS — MRS. SENATOR SHERMAN 

EVENINGS AT BOCKEN — WE ALL GO TO THE RIGI — HOW WE 

GOT THE ''pRINCeV ROOMS HARTE GOES WITH US TO 

OBSTALDEN IN THE ALPS — VERY SIMPLE LIFE A STRANGE 

FUNERAL — HARTE FINDS HIS STORIES IN A VILLAGE INN — 
MORE LETTERS — WE VISIT THE MOSELLE RIVER — FINER 
THAN THE RHINE — A WONDERFUL CASTLE OF THE MIDDLE 
AGES — ALL FURNISHED AND FRESH AS WHEN NEW — THE 
FRENCH DID NOT FIND IT WHEN THEY WERE DEMOLISHING 

GERMAN CASTLES AN EXQUISITE GOTHIC CHURCH FIVE 

HUNDRED YEARS OLD — WONDERFUL ROMAN RUINS AT 
TREVES — MORE LETTERS FROM BRET HARTE — A HAPPY 
MAN. 

May JO. — One day I was wandering quite alone in the 
Jura Mountains. I had httle with me save my umbrella, 
my overcoat, and a pocket copy of Bret Harte's poems. 
When I rested, here and there, under a tree at the roadside, 
I read the poems — all of them ; but "John Burns of Gettys- 
burg," ''Dickens in Camp," 'The Reveille" and "Her Let- 
ter," I read often, and felt them to be the rarest verses 
any American had ever written. 

His "Heathen Chinee" had given him fame, while these 
other great things were but little known. 

I believe I had never asked a man for an autograph in 
my life, but I did want Bret Harte's own name at the foot 
of "Burns of Gettysburg;" for I had read it with a thrill, 

(170) 



LETTER FROM BRET HARTE 171 

and with tears. I sent him the very same little book I had 
carried around with me. 

He returned the copy with these words written on the 
margin : 

"Phrases such as camps may teach, 
Sabre cuts of Saxon speech." 

He also wrote me. He was now U. S. Consul at Crefeld, 
near the lower Rhine. 

"United States Consulate, Crefeld, May 28, 1879. 

"My Dear Mr. Byers : — I have written my name in your 
book, and return it to you by to-day's post. I beg you to 
believe that I have never performed that simple act with 
more pleasure. I only regret that the quality of the paper 
on page 91 rather limited the legible expression of my good 
will, and that I could not show as clearly as I would like 
my thanks to one who has written so appreciatingly of my 
hero. 

"I might have added 'fellow soldier' to the inscription, 
but I fear that my year's service against the Indians on the 
California frontier, when the regular troops were withdrawn 
to Eastern battlefields, would scarcely justify me in taking 
that title. But I want you to believe that my knowledge 
of men and camps enabled me to praise a hero understand- 
ingly. 

"If you still feel under any obligation to me, you can 
discharge it very easily. I am anxious to know something 
about your vicinity, and the prices and quality of accommo- 
dations to be found there this summer. My doctor has or- 
dered me to the mountains, for my neuralgia and dyspepsia, 
and I can procure a leave of absence of three or four weeks. 
I have thought of going to Switzerland with a member of 
my family who is studying painting in Diisseldorf, and I 
should therefore prefer some locality where she can' sketch 
from nature. I want some quiet, pretty place, away from the 
beaten track of tourists — some little pension, not too ex- 



172 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

pensive. Can you give me some information regarding prices, 
localities, etc., etc., and how early in the season it would 
be advisable to come? 

'T shall look forward confidently to your telling me some- 
thing as soon as you can. 

"Yours very truly, Bret Harte.'' 

This letter gratified me, as I now looked forward to the 
pleasure of having Mr. Harte with us in Switzerland. He 
wished a quiet place. Where in all the world was there 
so quiet and so lovely a spot as our own "Bocken," on the 
lake, with the green hills about it and its views of snow 
mountains, and all close to beautiful Zurich. We were to 
spend our third summer there. So I proposed ^'Bockeri" 
and also "Obstalden," a hamlet we often went to in the 
higher Alps. 

He took up with Bocken, however, and wrote: 

"June 19, 1879. 

"My Dear Mr. Byers : — Let me thank you for your two 
welcome letters and your book on Switzerland. You could 
not have sent me a volume more satisfactory to my present 
needs, nor one that could give me so strong a desire to 
know more of the author. My good genius evidently joined 
hands with the State Department in sending you to Switzer- 
land ten years before me. 

"Make the best arrangements you can for me at Bocken 
for about the 7th of July, the exact date you shall know 
later. You can, if you think it better, keep some hold on 

Obstalden. Dr. Van K yields his favorite Rigi, 

and thinks I can get strong at Bocken or Obstalden ; such 
was the power of your letters on the highest medical wisdom 
of Diisseldorf. 

"Nothing could be kinder than your invitation, but I 
fear that neither my cousin nor myself can permit you to 
add to our great obligations this suggestion of coming to you 



BOCKEN 173 

as guests. Let us come to Bocken like any other tourists, 
with the exception that we know we have already friends 

there to welcome us. My cousin, Miss C , desires 

to thank your wife for her good intentions, and hopes to 
have the pleasure of sketching with her. 

"I sent you yesterday the only book of mine that I could 
lay my hands on, a little volume in return for 'Switzerland.' 
There is something about mountains in it, but I fear your 
book is the more reliable and interesting. 

"My cousin was greatly pleased with your suggestion of 
your wife's sketching and aiding her in pursuit of the 
picturesque. 

"Very truly, Bret Harte.'" 

Delays set in, and he wrote again. 

"July 23, 1879. 

"My Dear Byers: — Are you losing your patience and 
beginning to believe that B. H. is 'a light that never was 
on land or sea.* 

"For the last week I have been trying to assist some- 
body, who has come out from the Custom House in N. Y., 
duly certified to by the State Department, and is 'wanting 
to know, you know' all about 'market prices and prices cur- 
rent.' But I think I should have scarcely staid for him, 
if the weather had not been at its worst, blowing a stiff gale 
for forty-eight hours at a time, and raining in the intervals. 

"My present intention is to leave here Saturday, ar 
Sunday, the 26th, but of course will telegraph you exactly 
when and how. 

"Yours hopefully, Bret Harte." 

At last, he and his cousin. Miss C , a charming 

woman, who soon joined my wife in sketching excursions, 
reached Bocken. Bocken has enough big rooms for old 
knights of ye olden time to carouse in, but very few bed- 
rooms for real folks to sleep in. So Mr. Harte and I, for a 



174 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

time, occupied a bedroom together in the annex. I was 
a gainer by the arrangement, for we sometimes lay awake 
half the night and more, whilst he related to me reminis- 
cences of his early life in California and his literary and 
other experiences. They would fill a book, but I forbear. 
This much only I copy from my diary of the time. 

August 8, i8/^. — Bret Harte and his cousin reached us 
some days ago. He seems a sick man. He looks nothing 
like the pictures I had conjured up of him. He is forty-one 
years old, of medium height, strongly built, legs like an 
athlete, weighs about one hundred and seventy-five pounds, 
has fine head, a big nose, clear-cut features, clear good 
eyes, hair cropped short and perfectly gray, face full and 
fine; in short a very handsome man, and an exquisite in 
dress. He is neatness personified, and he seems to have 
brought a whole tailor's shop of- new clothes with him to 
this simple place, as he appears in a different suit daily, 
sometimes semi-daily. 

There is little at the pension table that he can eat, for 
he has dyspepsia. So, as we have our own cook and kitchen, 
we have of late invited him and his cousin to dine with 
us. At noon, our table is set under the chestnut trees 
out on the terrace overlooking the blue lake. He can eat 
here. It is a wonderful spot to dine at with such a view 
before us. 

We have our breakfast in the corner room of the chateau, 
where the famous tile stove stands, with its pictures of 
Swiss history. The walls of the room have massive panels 
of old oak, and around them are low seats that open like 
chest lids. From the big, leaded windows of the room 
the view is as fine as on the terrace. Joining this corner 
is an immense banquet room — the knights' hall of the olden 
times. 

While sitting at the old, old table, sipping our coffee, 
we see the pretty steamers pass on the lake far below us, 



LITERARY EVENINGS 175 

and towards Glarus we see the snowy Alps reflecting the 
morning sun. 

Plain old Chateau Bocken was built centuries ago as a 
country home for the Burgomasters of Zurich. Those fel- 
lows of the olden time knew where the beautiful spots of 
earth were. I often think Bocken, in summer, the loveliest 
spot on earth. I am sure it is, for me. Evenings after 
supper on the terrace, we sit out there at the table with 
the lamps burning till bedtime. We have good times in 
talk and reminiscences. Harte is as fine a conversationalist 
as I ever knew. He uses the most choice and elegant lan- 
guage possible. This surprises one, on recalling that his 
famous California stories are so often in the dialect of 
the gold mines. His voice is fine, his speech extremely 
taking, and I think he has a good heart. When feeling 
well, he is a delightful companion — an interesting man — 
apart from his work and fame. 

These evenings out on the terrace, we talk of the poets 
too. Each expresses his preference. Harte said almost 
the finest poem in the language is Browning's "Bringing 
the Good News From Ghent to Aix." He recited it with 
splendid feeling. 

To me. Browning's "Napoleon at Ratisbon" seemed al- 
most equally good — a whole drama in a dozen lines or so. 

I spoke of Harte's own poem, the "Reveille." His recital 
to us of how it was produced in San Francisco was in 
itself a picture of old war times, exciting in the extreme. 

A great mass meeting was to be held in San Francisco 
one evening. Men were wanted to enlist — to go out and die 
for their country, in fact. Somebody must write a poem, 
said the Committee, and Thomas Starr King, the patriot 
orator, suggested the name of a young man employe at 
the Government mint. It was Bret Harte. The day of 
the evening came, and, with fear and doubting, Mr. Harte 
read his little poem to Mr. King. "I am sure it won't do — 
It is not good enough," he added deprecatingly, and with 



176 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

self-disappointment. "You don't know," answered Mr. 
King. "Let me read that poem aloud to you once." 

In his great, fine voice, he rendered the verses, till Harte 
himself was astonished with his own lines. Still, the judg- 
ment of a friend could be over partial. 

Harte was almost afraid to go to the hall that night ; but 
he went and crept up into the gallery. All San Francisco 
seemed to be present. It was a terribly exciting time. 
Would California rise up and be true to the Union, or 
only half true? 

"I will read a poem," said the magnificent King, after 
a while. "It is by Mr. Harte, a young man working in 
the Government mint." 

"Who's Harte?" murmured half the audience. "Who's 
he?" 

The orator commenced, and ere he reached that great 
line, "For the great heart of the Nation, throbbing, an- 
swered, 'Lord, we come,' " the entire audience were on their 
feet, cheering and in tears. 

It was too much for the young poet to stay and witness. 
He thought he would faint. He slipped down the back 
stairs and out into the dark street, and walking there alone, 
wondered at the excitement over verses he had that morning 
feared to be valueless. 

One can imagine a young man out there alone in the 
dark, for the first time hearing Fame's trumpet sounding 
to him from the crowded theater. 

August 15. — The days were passing in delight at Bocken. 
I come out from the consulate early in the afternoon. 
Occasionally I stay here all day, and then with Harte and 
his cousin we have little excursions in the vicinity. 

Yesterday, I helped Mr. Harte read over the proof-sheets 
of his "Twins of Table Mountain." We lay in hammocks 
and read. I do not think it approaches some of his former 
stories. 

Miss C copies much for him, and he also occa- 




Obstald en. —Pa£-e 178. 



VISIT TO THE RIGI 177 

sionally dictates to her. I wonder that any one can write 
in that way. 

The other afternoon I took him in to consult Dr. Cloetta, 
a distinguished professor and physician. The good doctor, 
who speaks but Httle English, put him on a lounge, examined 
him carefully, and said, *'Mr. Harte, I think you got exten- 
sion of the stomach." Coming back on the boat, Harte 
laughed a good deal about this ; cursed a little too. 
• August i8. — Mrs. Senator Sherman, of Washington, and 
two of her nieces, are stopping for a while in this part of 
Switzerland. A lieutenant of the navy is also with them. 
The other day we all took a notion to cross the country 
in a post diligence, and turn up at the Rigi. 

We started from Bocken early in the morning. The 
driver was jolly and we had much fun. I only fear some 
of the peasants thought us tipsy, as we passed through 
their villages singing "Shoo Fly, Don't Bother Me," and 
like joyous American ditties. We had a big, red umbrella 
fastened above the diligence, and when we came to a hamlet 
the driver put his horses on the gallop and blew his bugle. 
Mrs. Sherman looked a bit serious over it all, but the 
noisier ones of the party were in command. 

The hotel on the Rigi had not a single bed for us that 
night. *'May we sleep on the hall floor?" innocently in- 
quired Mr. Harte. *'No," answered the landlord. "Per- 
haps out on the doorsteps then?" continued Mr. Harte. 
"Just as you please," said the keeper of the hostelry, crustily. 
"My beds, I tell you, are taken. I can do nothing for you." 
"Yes, but — " went on Mr. Harte, with a knowing smile — 
"it is awfully cold and dark out there — suppose our little 
party orders a good champagne supper, with lots of chicken 
and etceteras, and sits at the table here all night. You 
wouldn't mind that would you?" The landlord coughed a 
little cough. 

The supper was ordered, and before it was half over our 
host bethought himself. He said he had just got a telegram 

12 



178 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

from Prince and his suite, who had engaged the 

four finest rooms in the house. The Prince could not come. 
We could have the Prince's rooms, all of them. ''Hurrah 

for the Prince of ^ ," we all cried, clinking our 

glasses to him. The fact was, and we knew it, the telegraph 
office had not been open since 6 o'clock. All the same, 
we had the finest rooms and a moderate bill. And the 
next day one of the nieces was engaged to the young lieu- 
tenant. So a good deed prospers. 

"You will not mind telling us why you did not give us 
the rooms in the first place, will you?" said Mr. Harte to 
the host next morning, as he settled the bill for the party. 
"We know, you know, that you got no telegram at all 
from the Prince." "Frankly," said the landlord, "it was 
because Americans don't often order wine. My profit's 
in my wine and if none is ordered, better the rooms remain 
empty. But you folks are not Americans, I know by the 
many bottles." Nevertheless, it was Mr. Harte's good 
nature that won the day for us, or rather the night. 

We were up too late for the "Sunrise on the Rigi" next 
morning; but the splendid view of a dozen blue lakes and 
snow white mountains all around us, repaid the party for the 
trip. 

Mrs. Sherman liked the Rigi for its own lonesome heights. 
Mr. Harte praised the whole wonderful scene; the Lieu- 
tenant looked into the blue eyes of Miss , and all 

were satisfied. 

August so, 1879. — When we got back from the Rigi to 
Bocken, Mr. Harte proposed that we go for a week to 
Obstalden, that picturesque hamlet hung above the Wallen- 
see. We ourselves had spent parts of three summers there. 
It is indeed a characteristic Alpine village. It is on the 
side of a mountain. The wonderful little Wallensee, blue 
as a summer's sky, lies 2,000 feet below it. Behind it rise 
majestic mountains. It is all green grass up there, even 
up to the very doors and windows of the brown, hewn 



OBSTALDEN 179 

log houses. A little white highway winds up to the village 
from the lake, while the rest of the roads are simple, narrow 
goat paths. They lead about over the grass from house to 
house, and from the village up to the higher Alps, where 
the village boys herd goats and cows from sunrise till 
evening. The peasant women all weave silk, and this ne- 
cessitates the great number of long windows in their ham- 
brown cabins. The men are almost as brown as their 
houses, and live to be a hundred years old. I never saw 
so many very old people in my life. They live on bread 
and milk and cheese, with a little sour wine. Some of these 
centenarians are Alpine guides, and I have had them carry 
my overcoat and haversack and escort me up high mountains 
with the nimbleness of a boy of twenty. I was ashamed 
to have them lug things for me, a member of the Alpine 
Club, but they insisted. 

American tourists don't find Obstalden. The hamlet is 
kept a close secret among a few Swiss and Germans, who 
want only picturesque scenes and very simple life. It was a 
great favor that a friend told me about it, and got the little 
village inn to always give me the refusal of a room or two. 

I had learned Mr. Harte's tastes, after his coming to 
Bocken. They were not for the utterly simple life of moun- 
tain villages, after all, and my wife and I protested against 
his going to Obstalden. But go he would and we had to 
accompany him. 

When we got there, the little hotel was overflowing 
with people. It held but a dozen guests. The keeper of 

the inn offered to sit up that night, and let Miss C 

and my wife have his room. But at last he thought of the 
village pastor's wife, and she took in the two ladies. He 
tried to get a room in a peasant's house for Mr. Harte 
and me. It was impossible. We could walk about all 
night, at the imminent risk of falling off a couple of thous- 
and feet or so, or we could sleep in a peasant's hayloft. 

Many of Mark Twain's famous "Chamois" were likely 



180 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

to be hopping around in that Httle hayloft. Mr. Harte 
hesitated a httle — wished he had never heard of Obstalden. 
He wore one of his newest, swellest suits, and the situation 
"gave him pause." At last he nimbly climbed up the lad- 
der. I followed, and without much undressing in the 
dark, we were soon under a big coverlet, where to me, for 
a novelty, the sweet hay was better than any sheets ever 
made. 

Mr. Harte found it all "mighty tough" and "mighty 
rough." He had wanted, he said in his letter "a little inex- 
pensive simplicity," but this was too much for anything — 
a couple of representatives of the great United States, and 
one of them a New York exquisite, tucked away in a hay 
mow above the goats and cattle. Obviously, he had not been 
a mountaineer, fine as had been his tales of the rough life 
in California. 

That was something I always wondered at — how Bret 
Harte could write such splendid touching tales of "hard 
cases," being himself so much the reverse of all the charac- 
ters he depicted. It was the genius of his character that had 
done it all. Some men take in at a glimpse, and can per- 
fectly describe what others must experience for a lifetime, 
to be able to tell anything about. 

We lay awake much of that summer night, in the hay 
mow, but the "poetry" of the thing was all wasted on Mr. 
Harte. We heard the solitary watchman of the village, 
who with his lantern walked about in the darkness, cry 
to the sleepers: "Twelve o'clock, and all is well." That 
solitary watchman's occupation did touch Mr. Harte. It 
is indeed a singular life, going around there alone all the 
night, the towering pinnacles of the rocks on one hand, 
the depths of the valley and the lake below on the other, 
the flash of waterfalls close by, the thunder of distant 
falling avalanches. Never a night in three hundred years 
but some watchman has gone about the byways of Ob- 
stalden with his lantern, calling aloud the hours. 



IN THE ALPS 181 

A tin cup, and a little mountain rill that laughed its 
way through the village, afforded Mr. Harte and myself 
our opportunities for morning toilettes. Mr. Harte's new 
clothes had been pressed in the hay-mow, but not always in 
the right direction. We met the ladies at the breakfast 
table of the inn. Mr. Harte's narrative to them of the ad- 
ventures of the night made a hearty laugh. Never did a 
breakfast of brown bread and butter, with good coffee, 
hot milk and wild honey, taste better. The table was set 
out on the terrace. The blue lake was far, far below us. 
On its opposite shore, the perpendicular rocks, a mile high, 
shut in the loveliest water in Switzerland. 

Up on top of those walls of rock, on a little green plat- 
eau, we could see the town of Amden. Nothing like it in 
the world. Not a horse nor a carriage up there. It is 
reached by a stone stairway, zigzagging along the face 
of the rocks. Everything the people buy or sell is lugged 
up and down this wonderful stairway on peasants' shoul- 
ders. 

In the afternoon, Mr. Harte's attention was riveted on a 
curious procession of row boats, slowly crossing the lake 
in our direction. One of the boats was entirely covered 
with garlands and white flowers. It was a village funeral, 
said our landlord. They don't have ground enough for a 
graveyard up there in Amden; so they bury their people 
this side of the lake. 

"There is your story," I said to Mr. Harte — "the won- 
derful stairway — the lake funeral — the town on the high 
rocks." 

"Yes — all right," he answered; "but, somehow, I never 
have luck with material I don't find out for myself. I must 
suggest it myself." I recalled Bayard Taylor's saying, 
"there is no satisfaction in even a pint of hot water which 
has been heated by somebody else." I am afraid I heated 
this water, not very hot. The story will never be written. 

That evening we visited the "goat village," not far away, 



182 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

and watched hundreds and hundreds of goats, led by a 
young mountaineer, with a great bunch of Alpine roses 
tied to his staff, and a wreath of roses on his hat. He 
was coming down from the grassy slopes of a mountain. 
He was whistling and singing all the way. It was a pictur- 
esque sight. The *'goat village" is composed of scores 
of little huts or pens, each one big enough for a single goat. 
It was interesting to see how each goat knew its own 
hut among the many, and hurried into it to be milked. 

In a very few days Mr. Harte had had enough of Alpine 
simplicity, though we had secured a room in the inn. 

Far down below us on the lake lay pretty Wesen. It 
looked more civilized, and he would try it there. When 
he was shown his room in the Wesen inn, and strolled 
into the little drawing-room, what was his surprise to notice 
lying among the books on the table, *' the Works of Bret 
Harte/' 

This was fame — away off in an Alpine village of Switzer- 
land to find his name was known, his books read. 

When he told me, I recalled that other first night in San 
Francisco — the applauding assembly — the unknown poet 
out in the street in the dark. 

Mr. Harte soon came back to us at Bocken, and on the 
26th we accompanied him on his way to his home in Ger- 
many, as far as the Falls of the Rhine. 

But we stopped first in Zurich. As it was his birthday, 
we had a little good-bye dinner together in the Tonhalle 
by the lake, and did all we could for his "health'* with a 
bottle of "Mumm's extra dry." 

That he might be right over the Rhine Falls by moonlight, 
the host of the Laufen Castle gave him the room with the 
balconies above the water. It was beautiful, but the noise 
of the falls kept Harte awake all night. 

In the morning we said good-bye and parted, he for 
Crefeld via the Black Forest, and we for Bocken. 

Yesterday I got this letter from him : 



THE BLACK FOREST 183 

''Crefeld, Aug. 2.J, 1879. 

"My Dear Mr. Byers: — We arrived here safely last 
night. Of course, the railways did not connect as you said 
they would, and of course, we did not go where you prom- 
ised we should, but we got to Dlisseldorf within twelve 
hours of the schedule time set and are thankful. Only let 
me beg you to post yourself a little on Swiss railroads be- 
fore you travel yourself. Your knowledge does well enough 
for a guide to old experienced travelers like us! I! but it 
won't do for a simple, guileless, believing nature like your 
own. And don't let the landlord of the Chateau 'Laufen' 
cook up a route for you. 

"Our ride through the Black Forest was a delicious 
revelation. I should say it was an overture to Switzerland, 
had I entered Switzerland from its borders, but coming 
from Switzerland, I could not but think it was really finer 
than the Alps in everything that makes the picturesque, 
and that Switzerland would have been a disappointment 
afterwards. It was very like the California ^foothills' 
in the mountain ranges, and the long dashes of red soil 
and fed road — so unlike the glare and dazzle of the white 
Swiss turnpikes — were very effective. I wanted much to 
stop at Freiberg, still more at a certain ruined castle and 
'pension' called Hombeck, which was as picturesque as 
Castle Laufen, minus the noise of 'factory wheels and full- 
ing mills' from these awful rapids. Heidelberg was a 
sensation, with its castle that quite dwarfs the Rhine River 
(as all these things do by comparison when one travels) 
and we could have stayed here two or three days and en- 
joyed ourselves. 

"The weather has changed back to the old wet season 
that we thought we had left behind us when we turned 
our faces Southward. It is dull and rainy. Nevertheless 
as soon as I get some work off my hands that has accumu- 
lated here I shall try the seaside for my hoped-for rehabil- 
itation. 



184 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

"My cousin sends her regards. I suppose she will write 
or has written to Mrs. Byers. I hope you will not give 
up your Rhine trip (with a suitable guide) and that we 
may see you in Diisseldorf soon. 

''With my best regards to Mrs. Byers, 

"Very truly yours, Bret Harte/' 

September 2p, i8yp. — We are just home from a ten days' 
trip up and down the Moselle River, that neglected Cin- 
derella sister of the Rhine. It is more beautiful than the 
Rhine itself. It has more pretty hills and mountains on its 
shores ; its villages are more picturesque ; its ruins of castles 
more numerous; its wines as good. Parts of our journey 
we went in a row boat, often we walked along the shores. 
At Cochem, we visited friends and had a good time. We 
also went to the magnificent "Elz," the only German castle 
Louis XIV's invaders failed to find and destroy. It is 
among the dark wooded hills, miles back from the Moselle 
River. Nothing like it to-day in Germany. Heidelberg 
is a ruin. Elz is a perfect castle of the Middle Ages. Port- 
cullis, gate, tower, moat, walls and halls, stone floors, fire- 
places, tapestries and furniture, as they were centuries ago. 
Everything has been left, and the owner of Elz keeps all 
the surroundings in the spirit of the olden time, even to 
the troops of hounds. 

To wander through this castle is like reading Scott's nov- 
els, only here all is old German. No wonder the French 
never found the castle. Even we, with a guide, blundered 
right on to it, before we knew we were within miles of 
it. We heard dogs baying, looked, and there among the 
rocks and woods saw the lofty walls and towers. We 
had no passes allowing us to enter, but our guide had a 
brother among the men in charge, and we were shown across 
the bridge and moat. 

I know no spot, castle, or ruin, in Europe, where one 



HOLY RELICS 185 

feels himself so absolutely back in the Middle Ages. While 
in there, I forgot there were such things as gunpowder, 
railways, gas and cannon. The walls were hung with 
spears, swords, bows and battle clubs. 

Another of the perfect works of olden times visited by 
us on the Moselle was the ancient gateway at the City of 
Treves. This "Porta Nigra" impressed me much. I think 
there is nothing to equal it, even in Rome. Many of 
the works of the Romans, built in this German town, 
are in better preservation than anything in the ''Eternal 
City." Some of them are just as grand. The town itself 
is only a feeble reminder of the great, old times, when 
seven different Roman Emperors made this town their resi- 
dence. 

There is one church here, the "Liebfrauen Kirche," 
exquisite in its beauty, that stands as the most perfect 
specimen of Gothic architecture remaining in the world. 
It is indeed "a thing of beauty" and a "joy ;" if not forever, 
for at least five hundred years, and it may last a thousand 
years to come. The "Holy Coat of Christ" is kept here 
in the Cathedral. It is claimed to have been brought here 
by Helena, the mother of Constantine. I can see no reason 
why this may not be true. Relics of a million times' less 
significance have been preserved by men for ages. Nothing 
would be so easily traced and cared for, from century to 
century, as a relic that half mankind revered as holy. 

November, 1879, — We are again at our home in Zurich, 
7 Centralhof. We are anxious for a long visit to Italy, 
and I have asked for a leave. Mr. Harte thinks to go along 
with us. 

"November 9, 1879. 
"My Dear Mr. Byers: — I have your welcome letter of 
the 7th, and hasten to say that two words by telegraph 
from Mr. Seward give me my leave of absence. With this 



186 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

in my pocket, I am in no hurry, knowing that I can rush 
off at any moment, when Crefeld becomes unbearable. When 
the Rhine fog gathers thickest, and the office Hghts are Ht 
at 3 p. M. and neuralgia becomes lively, I clutch the tele- 
gram and smile a ghostly smile. 

''And we may meet, after all, where the sun shines. The 
doctor here tells me I must go to upper Italy, say Bellagio 
on the Lake of Como. But there is a time to think of that. 
Let me know when you get your leave. You will get it of 
course. 

"My cousin had a dismal voyage home, tempestuous 
weather and seasickness nearly all the time. She writes 
rather sadly from New York, where she has found her 
brother-in-law hopelessly ill, and her sister in great dis- 
tress. Her quiet life in Diisseldorf makes that busy city 
seem strange to her, and I hope when she gets to Wash- 
ington she may shake off her sadness. I have written to her 
urging her, if she have the slightest feeling of 'homesick- 
ness' for Europe again, to start off with her sister Jessie 
and come back to me at once. I hope she certainly will 
in the spring, for it is terribly lonely here. 

"Tell Mrs. Byers to stop this shooting of Parthian ar- 
rows from Obstalden. I am not so very particular, but if 
we travel in Italy together, we must certainly have more 
than one bedroom for us three. I know I am fastidious 
as to location, but I'd let that go. I'd stick out for two bed- 
rooms, if we had to telegraph a week ahead. If Mrs. Byers 
and myself are to quarrel in this way we must all have sep- 
arate apartments, and two wash bowls. 

"I forgot to ask you to procure me a book of Swiss pho- 
tographic views for about eight or ten francs. It is for a 
child's present and I leave the selection entirely to yourself. 
Will you charge your soul with it, and credit me with the 
enclosed. 

"Yours ever, B. H.'^ 



SECRETARY JOHN HAY 187 

And later he writes : 

''November 23, 1879. 

"My Dear Mr. Byers: — A line to thank you for the 
album. It was a great bargain at 10 R. M. And yet people 
talk of the impractical, unbusiness-like character of the 
literary mind. 

''I am still here, but knowing that I can go when I can 
stand things no longer, I put up with an india-ink washed 
sky, a dismal twilight that lasts eight hours, and stands 
for 'day' to the Rhenish perception, and find some work. 
I have just 'turned off' a story longer than the 'Twins,' and 
did it in spite of neuralgia and 'extension/ 

"I see by a telegram to the Daily London News that Mr. 
Seward has resigned, and Colonel John Hay takes his place 
as Assistant Secretary of State. Hay is a good fellow, was 
in the diplomatic service once, is an accomplished, well- 
mannered gentleman of whom any American might be 
proud, and only a few years ago earned his bread by literary 
labors as editorial writer on the Tribune, besides being the 
author of 'Jim Bludsoe' and 'Little Breeches,' as you, of 
course, know. He married a rich wife and is quite in- 
dependent of the office. 

"All this ought to presage some intellectual discrimina- 
tion of the deserts and needs of certain other literary men in 
the service. But we shall see. Certainly you will get your 
leave of absence now. 

"When you have made up your mind to go, let me know. 
Meantime give my best regards to your wife. 

"Yours ever, Bret Harte.'' 



July I, i8yp. — The business of the Consulate goes smooth- 
ly on. I have good assistants and no little leisure. Besides, 
Zurich is so centrally located that in a few hours I can 
travel to the most interesting spots of Europe. Germany, 
France, Italy are only a little journey off, the first but a 



188 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

couple of hours' ride away. The scenery here is deHghtful, 
the cHmate moderate. 

"What would you like if you could choose," said a Swiss 
to me at my tea table the other night. *' Nothing," I re- 
plied, "only to stay here forever." "You are content," he 
answered. "I envy you — you are a happy man — the first one 
I ever saw!" 



CHAPTER XXII 
1880— 1881 

A LITTLE STAY BY THE MEDITERRANEAN — AM OFFERED A 
POSITION IN CHINA — AN ARTICLE ON THE SWISS RHINE — 
ALSO ONE ON MY EXPERIENCES IN THE REBEL ARMY — TWO 
LETTERS FROM GENERAL SHERMAN — GRANT AND THE PRESI- 
DENCY — SAYS THE BARE NARRATIVE OF MY ESCAPE FROM 
PRISON WOULD BE AN EPIC — BANQUET AT THE LEGATION — 
I WRITE FOR THE NEW YORK TRIBUNE AN EXPOSE OF HOW 
CERTAIN EUROPEAN COMMUNITIES SENT PAUPERS TO THE 
UNITED STATES — AM VIOLENTLY ATTACKED FOR IT BY 
MANY AMERICAN JOURNALS AND REPRIMANDED BY STATE 
DEPARTMENT — SWISS GOVERNMENT COMPLAINS — INVESTI- 
GATION FOLLOWS — I AM JUSTIFIED LETTER FROM SHER- 
MAN AS TO HIS SON TOM — VISIT AMERICA — SECRETARY 
BLAINE COMPLIMENTS ME — THE PRESS CHANGES ITS TONE 
AND NEW LAWS ARE ADOPTED AS TO IMMIGRATION IN 
UNITED STATES AND SWITZERLAND — TRIBUNE SAYS EDI- 
TORIALLY, ''mR. BYERS DESERVES THE THANKS OF THE 
AMERICAN people'" — A LITTLE VISIT TO THE POET LONG- 
FELLOW, AND THE ALCOTTS; ALSO TO THE AUTHOR OF 
'^AMERICA."" 

March, 1880. — During a recent leave of absence I saw the 
Italian cities for the second time. We also spent some 
weeks at San Remo, by the Mediterranean, taking little foot 
excursions to Monte Carlo and Nice over the celebrated 
Cornici road. This lofty highway of Napoleon's, above the 
sea, is the finest foot excursion in Italy. 

While at Florence I wrote "Philip," and at Prato I se- 

(189) 



190 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

cured the beautiful censer described in the verses. The 
days now go by quickly enough, as many reports are asked 
for by the department, and the leisure goes in writing verses 
or articles for the magazines. 

March 30 had this from General Sherman: 

"Washington, D. C, March 17, 1880. 

"Dear Byers: — I was glad to receive your interesting 
letter from San Remo, Italy, a place I well remember on 
our drive from Nice to Genoa. I remarked the same thing 
that you did, that gorgeous scenery of sea and shore, of 
sheltered vales and olive-clad hills, with the snow-capped 
Pyrenees behind, seemed lost on the dirty, beggarly na- 
tives. Were it not for the English and American traveler, 
the Corniche would be poor indeed. All accounts from Eu- 
rope and California describe the past winter as very severe, 
whilst here in Washington and indeed in all the country 
east of the Mississippi there has been no winter at all. 
January and February were like the same months in Louisi- 
ana. We had last week a little spurt of snow, but now the 
sun shines warm and bright, the grass is green, and the 
trees begin to show leaves, whilst crocuses and lilacs are 
almost purple with their buds. I fear we have not had 
w^inter enough to make a healthy and profitable summer. 

"Elly will be married to Mr. Thackera, of the Navy, in 
May, and Minnie will come on the first time since her mar- 
riage. She now has four children, two boys and two girls, 
all healthy, strong children. For some years she has oc- 
cupied a suite of rooms at Windsor Flats in the city of St. 
Louis, but she has just removed to a house I possess in the 
suburbs, with five acres of lawn, orchard and garden. She 
writes that they are very comfortable, and I propose to 
go out and see for myself about April i. The rest of our 
family is here, Tom alone excepted, and we continue about 
as usual. 

"Politics are beginning to buzz. Grant is still in Mexico, 



**MRS. TELL" 191 

but will return via Texas next week. I suppose we may 
assume that he wants to be President again, and will proba- 
bly be the Republican candidate. Whom the Democrats 
will choose, is hard to guess. 

'T will look to the article you name in Harper's. Mrs. 
Sherman always reads your letters. 

''Ever your friend, W. T. Sherman.'' 

This month's Harper has my article on "The Swiss 
Rhine," illustrated by Mrs. Byers, and the May Atlantic will 
have my ''Ten Days in the Rebel Army." This is the story 
of the time I escaped from the Macon prison, and went 
into the Rebel Army in disguise. The desperate venture 
came near costing me my life when I was taken, as our own 
generals had been executing rebels for similar action in 
our own army a short time before. 

This is my eleventh year in the foreign service. I like 
the life and the duties, and the country I happen to be 
stationed in. It is also a gratification to have it said that 
I stand well with the Department at Washington. This is 
indicated by my being offered other and better posts than 
this. A recent letter tells me, if I wish it, I may have my 
choice of General Consulates in China or Japan. My prefer- 
ences are for life in Europe; besides, we now have our 
friends here, and know the people, the language, and the 
customs. 

June 14. — Our anniversary. Celebrate it by going to 
Biirglen, the birthplace of William Tell. Made sketches 
and had a good time. 

A cottage inn stands on the spot where Tell was born. I 
asked the young woman who answered the door bell if 
Mr. Tell were at home. She laughed and answered, "No, 
but I am Mrs. Tell." 

An American friend joined us there, and, with "Mrs. 
Tell," we all sang songs and waltzed half the night to the 



192 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

music of a cracked piano, played by one of ''Mrs. Tell's" 
sisters. 

************ 

Received a letter last week from General Sherman. He 
regrets Grant's having to scramble for the Presidency. 

''Washington, D. C, May ii, 1880. 

"Dear Byers : — I received in good time your kind letter 
of April 3, and laid it one side for attention after Elly's 
wedding. Meantime, the clock came all safe and right, and 
I acknowledged its receipt of the merchant in New York 
through whom it came. 

"The wedding came off all right at the appointed time, 
Wednesday, May 5th, and the young couple are now at 
Niagara, and will return next week via Boston and Phila- 
delphia. Mr. Thackera is a fine young naval officer of 
excellent reputation, and Elly is the best of my children for 
such a vagrant life. 

"I know that you receive the papers and telegrams and 
that it would be idle for me to attempt any news of public 
events. We are, as you well know, in the very throes of a 
Presidential canvass, which in itself constitutes a revolu- 
tion. Grant is still a candidate, but instead of being nomi- 
nated by acclamation, will have to scramble for it, a thing 
I cannot help but regret, as his career heretofore is so splen- 
did that I cannot help feeling it impaired by common poli- 
tics. He could so nobly rest on his laurels, but his family 
and his personal dependents prod him on, and his best 
friends feel a delicacy about offering advice not asked. 

"We are now residing in a rented house — No. 817 — 
Fifteenth Street, in the best possible neighborhood, and at 
rates better than to purchase. I look on St. Louis as my 
ultimate home, and don't want to be embarrassed with prop- 
erty here. I own two most excellent houses in St. Louis. 
One is now occupied by Minnie and her family, and the 



BURNING OF COLUMBIA ^ 193 

other is leased to good tenants who will take good care of 
it till we need it. 

**We are all in good health, that is, all my immediate 
family, but my aide. Colonel Audenreid, whom you must 
well remember, is at this moment dangerously ill of some 
liver complaint. The doctor assures me that we ought not 
to be alarmed, but I cannot help it, for he has been a month 
in bed, and I discover no signs of reaction. 

"My best love to Mrs. Byers and the children. My aide, 
Colonel Tourtelotte, is now abroad and will see you. 

"Yours truly, W. T. Sherman." 

August 75. — Another interesting letter from General 
Sherman came to-day : 

"Washington, D. C, Aug. i, 1880. 
"Dear Byers :— I was absent all of July, making a tour 
to the Northwest as far as Bismarck. On my return I found 
your two letters. One about Colonel Audenreid's death, 
which I have put into an envelope along with many others 
of the same kind for poor Mrs. Audenreid, when she is in 
a condition to be comforted by the sympathy of friends. The 
other letter of July 13 is now before me for answer. I really 
don't know where to look for that pamphlet about the burn- 
ing of Columbia, when you and I testified, and this being 
midsummer, everybody is out of town, and I am at a loss 
whom to consult to hunt it up. Was it the Committee on 
the Conduct of the War in session as the war closed, or 
later? I have a faint memory of testifying, but must beg 
you to write your article absolutely fresh, just as it remains 
in your mind, or as noted in any memoranda you possess. 
I am sure you could make a magazine article of infinite in- 
terest, painting your individual capture, imprisonmnent, 
hopes, fears, numerous escapes, concealment, etc., etc., the 
arrival of my army in Columbia, and your supreme joy both 
for yourself and country, at so happy a termination of vour 

13 



194 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

imprisonment. The bare narrative would be an epic, but 
you can dress it up without risking errors or controversy. 
Contemporaneous documents, of which thousands exist, 
will always take precedence of magazine articles at this late 
day, but Homer's Iliad is as fresh to-day as when penned, 
so of Robinson Crusoe. If I can find what you want I will 
send, but beg you not to wait. I must go September i, with 
the President and a select party, to California, Oregon, etc., 
to be gone all of October, so I will have little time. 

'T don't observe the least possible excitement about the 
Presidential election, and hope, as you say, one candidate 
or the other will obtain a decisive majority with as little 
force or fraud as possible. Hancock's nomination by the 
Democrats gives assurances that even if the Democrats suc- 
ceed, the Union will be safe. He is unquestionably patriotic, 
and has a stronger character and more ability than political 
enemies concede. Garfield is a man of unquestioned ability 
and force. Yours, W. T. Sherman.'' 

October ip, 1880. — Two days ago Mr. Nicholas Fish, our 
Minister, invited us to a diplomatic dinner at Bern. The 
Spanish Minister and his wife were present, as also one or 
two gentlemen of the Swiss Cabinet, and all the Consuls in 
Switzerland. 

The Fish family live in a pretty villa in the outskirts of 
the capital, with splendid views from their terrace. The 
Minister is the ideal diplomat, trained by long service, ac- 
complished, cautious and conservative. The standing of the 
family at the Swiss capital is very high. 

Before the banquet, two sweet children came into the 
drawing-room for awhile, a boy and a girl of the family.* 

Spent Sunday also with Mr. Fish's family, and drove 
about the queer old town with its arcades, its bear pit, its 



* This boy, Hamilton Fish, grew to manhood, and was the first 
American soldier killed for his country on Cuban soil. 



AMERICAN IMMIGRATION 195 

rushing waters and its glorious mountain views from the 
terrace. 

October 24. — For years I liave been observing the char- 
acter of the immigration from Europe to the United States. 
Much of it is very bad. It came to my certain knowledge, 
too, that hundreds of paupers, drunkards, criminals and 
insane people were absolutely being taken out of work- 
houses and jails at different places on the continent, and 
shipped across the sea to us at the expense of local authori- 
ties, who found it cheaper to send them to America than to 
provide for them at home. It did not seem possible, but a 
very little investigation proved its truth. As if by accident, 
numerous cases happened right within my own district. 
I protested, and, in some cases, compelled the return of 
paupers after they had reached the sea coast. But the traffic 
went right on, and every day's investigation revealed more 
of the extent of the imposition on the American Govern- 
ment. Our country is rapidly filling up with the off-scour- 
ings of Europe. There are plenty of good emigrants, but 
also an awful population of thriftless beggars and tramps 
invading the United States. Worst of all, nobody in 
America seems to believe a word of it. Our Government 
looks on supinely, our people welcome emigration of course, 
little dreaming of the chaff and the straw that come with 
the wheat. Nobody's attention can be secured to what is 
going on. Some weeks since I determined to make a 
public statement. 

November 50, 1880. — Every mail, these days, brings me 
marked American newspapers, with articles abusing me for 
my expose of pauper immigration, in the New York Tribune 
of November 12, 1880. It seems the larger part of the 
American press regards me as misrepresenting facts, and 
as a common disturber. 

Dozens of letters filled with violent abuse, also come to 
me, and from Chicago come letters even threatening my 
life, should I ever put foot in the United States. 



196 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Even the conservative State Department has been in- 
fluenced to send me what the newspapers call "a severe 
reprimand" and threatens my removal from office. 

Nothing but my past good record saved me. *Tn a Consul 
of less meritorious services," says the official dispatch, "it 
would be considered sufficient cause for removal." 

Committees went to the Secretary of State, and demanded 
my dismissal, anyway. It seems I have brought enmity 
on my head from every direction. 

The Swiss papers have copied the American attacks, and 
join in the malicious abuse and misrepresentation. My ar- 
ticle is misrepresented, and I am regarded an enemy of 
Switzerland. Some of the German press join in the howl, 
and even Bismarck has been asked to make representations 
to our Government. 

The Swiss representative at Washington complains to 
his government about me, and asks investigation. The 
Swiss government in quick time entered its complaint. 
This is my chance, for I have only told the truth, and have 
in my hands a hundred things to prove it, though at the 
present moment they have made me the most disliked man 
in Switzerland. There seems simply to be no ''let up" to 
the misrepresentations concerning this article. Those who 
know the inside facts, are naturally indignant that I have 
exposed them. 

I have gone on accumulating testimony, showing how 
scandalously our American hospitality has been abused by 
certain communities shipping their paupers and scoundrels 
to us. 

Yesterday an emigration agent offered to furnish me 
the names of four hundred paupers whom he alone had 
been hired to ship to the United States. 

In Italy, the other day, a great train load of poverty- 
stricken and perfectly ignorant immigrants were started off 
for the United States. They numbered one thousand 
There was not a dollar apiece in the whole crowd. 



THE ^'TRIBUNE LETTERS" 197 

February p, 1881. — Here and there, a Swiss newspaper 
has looked into the matter of my Tribune letters for itself, 
and with shame admits that the leading charges in my 
expose are true. 

Our Minister, Mr. Fish, at the request of the Depart- 
ment, also investigates me and my expose, and a few days 
ago announced to Washington ''that the statements made 
by Consul Byers, and objected to by the Swiss Government, 
are correct." 

' So all this storm of abuse has been unwarranted. Mr. 
Fish did me the compliment to add in his dispatch ''that 
instead of being unfriendly to the Swiss, he (Mr. Byers) 
has done much to encourage and cherish good relations 
between the two countries. He is one of the ablest and 
most experienced consular officers in the service and has 
for nearly twelve years performed his duties with integrity, 
ability and faithfulness." 

This report of me from a superior officer is a little set-off 
to the "reprimand" and to the five hundred howling news- 
papers in the United States. 

I am now getting letters of thanks from many people 
who appreciate my trying to do my country an honest ser- 
vice. Many of the newspapers, too, both at home and 
abroad, have commenced seeing "a new light," now that 
overwhelming evidence as to the facts is printed in pamphlet 
form by Minister Fish, and submitted to Congress. 

Many that attacked me a month or so ago, now praise. 
The New York Tribune has stood by me through it all, and 
now editorially says : "He deserves the thanks of the Ameri- 
can people."* What a change from a few weeks ago ! 

January 17. — General Sherman writes me an interesting 



* The State Department also sent me a letter later, thanking me 
for my zeal. The publicity I gave to the outrages going on, has 
also led the Swiss Parliament to change its regulations as to im- 
migration, while our own Congress has adopted severe measures 
against the traffic in paupers and criminals. 



198 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

letter about his son Tom, and regrets that he is not in an 
active career. 

"Washington, D. C, Jan. 2, 1881. 
"Dear Byers: — I was very, glad to receive yours of No- 
vember 25, for it assured me of your general well-being, that 
your family enjoyed health and a fair share of this world's 
blessings, and that your thoughts and feelings turned toward 
this, your native land. Our newspapers are so full of current 
news and gossip, and the telegraph so swift, and steamers 
so regular that letters are stripped of the interest they once 
possessed. I cannot hope to tell you of anything public, 
and in private everything seems to me so commonplace 
that I imagine you can, without being told, know that I and 
my family continue pretty much as when you were last 
with us. My daughter Elly is married to Lieutenant Thack- 
era, of the Navy, now on duty in Boston, supervising the 
construction of modern guns. I was there last week to 
visit her, and instead of the child I am wont to consider her, 
I found her a full developed woman. Minnie is at St. Louis 
with four children, one of them staying with us here in 
Washington, and all my girls are grown. The youngest boy, 
now fourteen, is tall, slender, red haired, and is said to re- 
semble me in form and quality. My oldest son, Tom, is also 
here with us on a New Year's visit. He is some sort of a 
Catholic divine, not a priest, but employed in one of the 
Catholic educational establishments near Baltimore. This 
is all directly, antagonistic to my ideas of right. He ought 
to be in some career to assist us, and to take part in the 
great future of America. I feel as though his life were lost, 
and am simply amazed he does not see it as I do. Mrs. Sher- 
man and the rest are as well as usual, and we are drifting 
along with public events toward that end which we now 
can foresee. If you come back I hope to see you often, and 
hope you, too, will sooner or later embark in the live ques- 
tions of the future. Anything which comes from you I al- 
ways read with interest, whether a letter or magazine article. 



MR. BLAINE 199 

Give my best love to Mrs. Byers, and believe me always, 
"Affectionately, your friend, 

"W. T. Sherman." 

March, 1881. — On the nth of last month, we left Zurich 
for Liverpool, and sailed to New York on the 15th. Reached 
Washington in time to see the inauguration of President 
Garfield. It snowed on the night of the 3d, and the Wash- 
ington streets were cold and miserable on the evening of 
the 4th. There were great crowds of people at the East 
front of the Capitol, and everybody was touched when the 
oath was taken, as Garfield turned around and kissed his 
aged mother. 

The street parade was fine, but the weather cold. Thou- 
sands probably died from diseases contracted while view- 
ing the ceremonies. 

Yesterday evening, was taken to see Mr. Blaine, the new 
Secretary of State. His selection is regarded as adding 
great power to the administration. 

I went with General Sherman to Blaine's home on Fif- 
teenth Street. He entered the dooryard just as we came, 
and greeted us on the steps. I was in great doubt as to 
how he would receive me, knowing the attacks on me in the 
press, and the '"reprimand" from his own department. 

'*You have been giving our country some information on 
the emigration question," he said to me, as he hung his 
overcoat up in the hall. 

This was followed by an ominous silence, and we all 
walked into the drawing-room, and were presented to Mrs. 
Blaine, who was just leaving. The Secretary walked to 
the open fire-place, turned his back to it, and, addressing 
me, said : '*Mr. Byers, I want you to understand that I con- 
sider that in this pauper emigration matter you have done a 
good thing — and I am going to support you in it." 

"You can give me the information I want," he continued. 



200 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

later in the conversation, and invited me to come and see 
him on the following Monday. 

I think the conversation helped Mr. Blaine to make up his 
mind to send a certain strong letter abroad. 

May, 1881. — When at Washington, I was invited to pre- 
pare the Decoration Day poem. I wrote "The Nation's 
Dead." The President and many distinguished people were 
present at its recital. 

As I could not be present to read my poem personally, 
some one suggested that the distinguished Robert Ingersoll 
should be invited to read it. General Sherman, in a letter 
to me, objected in strong language. Ingersoll was a friend 
of his, but he regarded it manifestly improper for an infidel 

to be delivering poems over the graves of American soldiers. 

************ 

Before sailing, I visited at the Allen home and school, 
West Newton. James T. Allen had been one of my best 
friends in Europe. The school was somewhat on the plan 
of the celebrated Beust school at Zurich ; that is, fewer text- 
books and better teachers. 

I had a letter to the poet Longfellow, and Mr. Allen sug- 
gested that we go over to Cambridge on Sunday afternoon. 
My letter was from Mr. Longfellow's nephew. 

The poet came into the little drawing-room with a full 
blown red rose in his buttonhole. He took me by the hand 
and welcomed me very kindly. I commenced to apologize 
for coming on Sunday. "Tut — tut," said he, "no apology; 
I hope we are not so puritanical as not to want to see our 
friends on a Sunday." And then we sat down and talked 
about his nephew wdio had been in Switzerland. His lan- 
guage was vivacious, his eye clear, his cheeks rosy, his hair 
perfectly white. I was surprised to see how small was his 
figure, for I had always thought of Longfellow as a tall 
man with a great Leonine head ; his pictures make him so. 

I could not wholly help a glance around the famous room. 




Veechiu Palace, Flurent 



BRONSON ALCOTT 201 

I am sure he saw it, for he offered to show me some of the 
things that he knew I had read about. They were not 
bought bric-a-brac, but souvenirs, or else things his poetry 
and life had immortalized. Somehow he seemed to me a 
man to love — simple, pure and beautiful as his verses. 

I also had letters to Mr. Bronson Alcott, the transcenden- 
talist philosopher. He received me one morning in a very 
cordial manner. It >vas in his library. We talked of books 
and something of his life. I had just been out to the battle- 
field of Lexington, looked at the bronze monument of the 
"Minute Man" there, and was so struck with the verse on 
it as to commit it to memory. "And Mr. Emerson wrote it," 
I said, somewhat uncertain as to my memory. "Certainly, 
certainly," said Mr. Alcott. "Of course, that is Mr. Emer- 
son's. We Americans don't half know what a poet we have 
in Mr. Emerson." He went to the book shelves and brought 
a volume of Emerson's poems, presented to him, with this 
particular poem marked in it, and showed it with evident 
pride. 

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 

Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 

Shortly, he proposed to take a walk. He would show me 
the town, the old elms, the old, old graveyard and the 
famous Lecture Hall, "and then," said he, "we will swing 
around and call on Mr. Emerson." 

He showed me all about, talking, as only Mr. Alcott could 
talk. When we reached the unpretentious frame building 
called the Lecture Hall, in the edge of the bushes, I re- 
flected what great things had been said there, what ideas 
given wing, and now I felt sure I was about to be over- 
whelmed with deep philosophy. Nothing of the kind. He 
spent a full half hour telling me about the cost of the wooden 
structure and its course of building, from the underpinning 



202 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

to the top of the chimney. I was anxious to move on and 
be sure to have our call on Mr. Emerson. We really started 
once, but immediately Mr. Alcott recalled something about 
the wonderful "Hall" he had not shown me, and we went 
back. 

At last we started in earnest, and reached the white frame 
house that neighbors and friends of Mr. Emerson had built 
in place of the one destroyed by fire. 

"Mr. Emerson is at home, I suppose," said Mr. Alcott 
to the girl who answered the door bell. "Yes," said she, 
"that is, he has just this moment left for Boston." I was a 
bit disappointed, and I think Mr. Alcott was, but he made 
up for it in fine and kindly talk, and we went back to the 
library. There was an invitation to stay to lunch, but the 
hour for my train back to Newton interfered. He gave 
me a fine photograph of himself. Mr. Alcott was a great 
and powerful looking man. He had an immense head and 
face, shaggy eyebrows, and clear deep eyes. He was tall 
and large in body. His voice was gentle and his manners 
were delightful and simple. 

"Now, is there nothing I can do for you ?" he said, as I 
was about to take my leave. "Thank you, Mr. Alcott," 
I answered, "and yet it would be a pleasure if I could have 
the honor of meeting your daughter." 

"Bless me," he cried, jumping up; "don't you know 
Louise? Louise!" he called out at the top if his voice, 
"Louise, come in here." There was no answer. "Come 
on," he said; "we'll hunt her up," and away we started 
through the rooms of the house on a chase for the famous 
woman. 

We found her in morning gown, with carpet sweeper in 
hand, dusting one of the chambers. She was as kindly and 
simple as her father. She could not hear well, but she was 
very vivacious and full of fun. She asked me to go with 
her all about the house, looking at this souvenir and that, 
9.S if she herself were not at that moment the greatest sight 



THE AUTHOR OF ''AMERICA^' 203 

of all. She dwelt especially on some pictures on the wall 
that a sister had painted in Paris. My stay abroad must 
have fitted me to know about paintings, she insisted. These 
were indeed interesting and good. 

As we were talking, two young fellows ran over the stile 
and out into the street. Mr. Alcott gleefully nudged me 
on the arm, and said, ''Look, the 'little men.' " We all 
looked. Miss Alcott smiled and said, "Yes, they are the 
boys." 

The train was just starting as I reached it at the station, 
and there I had a glimpse of a tall, intellectual-looking man 
crossing the platform, apparently looking for some other 
train. He carried a little hand bag. I heard a passenger 
next me say, "There is Mr. Emerson." 

Mr. Allen took me to Newton Center, to see the famous 
Dr. Smith, author of the song "America." It was dark 
when we called. His daughter went to fetch matches, and 
was no little surprised on coming back to find the gas burn- 
ing brightly. Mr. A. had lighted a match on his shoe and 
found the gas lamp. Shortly, Dr. Smith came in. Though 
old and partially deaf, his face was kind and his eyes bright. 
He liked to talk with us about his past, and told us much 
concerning the origin of his famous song. I thought his 
home old and dingy for so famous a man. The people of 
America could well afford to give him a palace. His song 
has done more to preserve the American Union than any 
army ever did. He was interested about music in Switzer- 
land, and asked me to tell him what effect the mountains 
have on the Swiss character. I told him to judge by their 
songs. No country in the world has so many music festivals, 
so many singing clubs. "And the songs they sing?" in- 
quired the doctor. "They are mostly about their country, 
their mountains, their lakes, their rivers," I answered. At 
a great musical contest last year, attended by ten thousand 
people, forty-six songs were sung in chorus. Nineteen of 



204 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

these were about the Alps, or hymns to nature. Seven were 

about Switzerland, two or three about the Rhine, and ten 

were love songs. 

It was a Sunday evening and we feared to prolong our 

visit. 

************ 

After I had reached my post at Zurich, a New Yorker 
wrote me to send him a book printed in the Swiss language. 
I had seen but few. There is a Swiss language, all the un- 
educated speak it; so do many of the cultivated, when 
among themselves, but not among strangers. It is also 
spoken miich in the family circle. It has many dialects, and 
some of them are older than the German language itself. 
An occasional newspaper is printed in these dialects, but 
books rarely. 



CHAPTER XXIII 
1881 

ELM AND ALL ITS PEOPLE DESTROYED BY AN AVALANCHE — A 
FOOT TRIP IN IRELAND — FENIANS — REDCOATS — POVERTY — 
THE QUEEN HOOTED OUT OF JAIL AND A HERO — MUCK- 
ROSS ABBEY BY MOONLIGHT— AN IRISH FUNERAL — A DUPLI- 
CATE BLARNEY STONE — LETTERS FROM GENERAL SHERMAN 
— THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON — THE ASSASSINATION OF 
PRESIDENT GARFIELD. 

September, 1881. — It is a year now since pretty Elm and 
all its people were buried in an avalanche. 

Only a few days before, we had climbed over one of the 
obscure bridle paths from the Rhine valley to Elm. The 
path led over a glacier and was 9,000 feet high. All that 
summer night in Elm we heard the avalanches fall in the 
neighborhood, for we were in the higher Alps; lofty and 
awful pyramids of eternal rock and snow were all about us. 

Right behind the little inn, where we staid that night, 
frowned a threatening, almost perpendicular mountain, 12,- 
000 feet high. What if that dark pile should tumble over on 
the village, we thought, as we looked out into the moonlight. 
How little we dreamed what was about to happen. We were 
hardly back in our home in Zurich, when a telegram an- 
nounced that the mountain had fallen, that Elm and all 
the people had been destroyed. 

Shortly, Consul Mason, of Basel, and myself hurried by 
rail to Schwanden, and in a little wagonette went up the 
comparatively easy valley road to what was once Elm. The 
sight was terrific. A part of the mountain overhanging the 

(205) 



206 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

village slipped off on Sunday, just as the people had returned 
from afternoon church services. The mighty debris of 
rock and earth overwhelmed and buried the pretty village. 
It filled the valley for half a mile. Mason and I climbed 
over granite boulders and broken rocks as big as a house. 
Nothing of the town was to be seen, the houses had been 
torn to pieces and buried fifty feet below. Nearly every- 
body had been killed. There were no funerals, for till this 
day the peasants of Elm sleep under the mountain that over- 
whelmed them. The few wdio had escaped, by being on 
hillsides or out looking at their herds on the higher fields, 
wandered about as if dazed. They shed no tears. To them, 
the end of the world had come. Some of them told me, 
without a tremor in their voices, how^ they stood on some 
high place and saw their wives, their fathers or their chil- 
dren first thrown into the air by the awful concussion and 
then buried with their houses. The keeper of the little inn 
where we stopped that night had been spared, and told us 
how he saw the big iron bridge across the river Sernf tossed 
a hundred feet into the air, twisted like a straw, and thrown 
against a hillside. 

The river bed had been dammed up by the falling rock, 
and the waters now wandered aimlessly over the ocean of 
debris above the people's homes. It is all silent now, up 
there in the Alps where Elm stood, silent save where the 
winds from the mountain peaks on moonlight nights moan 
a requiem to the sleeping dead. 

September 20. — President Garfield died yesterday at 5 
A. M. (Swiss time), and all the world went into mourning. 
I draped the flag here, and put it out at the consulate. Many 
people called to express their sorrow^ A more unprovoked 
murder of a ruler never occurred. The Resident's agony 
since July 2d has been terrible, and his courage to bear it 
has been tremendous. 

Early this month, I made a little foot tour in Ireland. 
Everybody said, "Don't go !" Even in Dublin, a friend 



THE FENIANS 207 

warned me, saying : *'It is a terrible time in Ireland. Land- 
lords are being murdered and farmers locked up in prison. 
You are a stranger here. The English soldiers, on the watch 
everywhere, will take you for an American Fenian. The 
Irish will take you for an English spy." 

It was all a mistake, as to myself at least. I went every- 
where unmolested. True, the tourists were frightened out 
of the country. British redcoats were being sent up and 
down the island looking for "boycotters" and assassins. 
The people everywhere were sullen, and ominous silence 
reigned in many places. The country seemed to be sitting 
on a volcano. I often walked miles on country roads with- 
out meeting a soul, and nobody at all dared to be abroad at 
night. At little country inns where I stopped, people did 
not talk about the situati6n. I suppose they dared not. 

By accident I picked up a newspaper one day and read a 
warning signed by New York Fenians against any one's 
traveling to Europe on an English steamer. "They would 
blow them all up." To my horror another item told how 
an ''infernal machine" was believed to have been put on 
board the ''Adriatic," that had sailed on the 8th. This might 
go off in mid-ocean and destroy the ship. My wife and two 
children were on board that vessel, and the ship had sailed. 
There was nothing to do but wait, and fear. Besides, it 
did not seem possible to me that the friends of Ireland 
could resort to such crimes. In Ireland itself, however, 
there was little respect for law, and for England none at all. 

Once I was on a railroad train near Mallow. I was in 
the third class, because there I could see the common people. 
A Fenian, out of jail that very morning, sat next to me. He 
would not talk about the government, but constantly asked 
me to "look out at the green fields" — they were so beautiful 
to him after months of imprisonment. 

Many redcoat soldiers, in charge of prisoners wearing 
handcuffs, were on the train. The prisoners yelled : "Down 
with England ! Hurrah for free Ireland !" and sang the 



208 -TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

"Wearing of the Green." The soldiers could not help them- 
selves and simply laughed. 

The train stopped at a little country village and I saw a 
great mass of people running towards us. The soldiers said 
they were coming to stone the train. I wished now that I 
had listened to the "warnings." Instead of stoning us, how- 
ever, the mob rushed into the car where I was, seized the 
man by my side and bore him out on their shoulders. The 
men hugged him, the women kissed him, and everybody 
cried for "free Ireland." It was his welcome home from 
prison. The redcoats said nothing and did nothing. As 
the train moved on, I could see the mob still carrying the 
man up the street, while the village band marched at their 
head. 

I wanted to go to Limerick for the races next day, but I 
saw a train with three hundred armed and uniformed 
policemen going to the same place, so I stayed away, and 
took to the quiet and safer country roads. 

I passed lovely scenes in the neighborhood of Killarney. 
The lakes equal the Swiss lakes in beauty ; there are bright 
waterfalls there, groves, grand estates, ruined castles, and 
wretched poverty. 

Saw Muckross Abbey by moonlight — nothing more ro- 
mantic conceivable. The grand old trees, the broken arches, 
the ivy-covered walls, the graveyard with its bones of long- 
dead Irish kings, all silent and lone under the soft light 
of a summer moon, impressed me. 

A young Irishman and his newly wedded wife, stopping 
at the inn, had joined me in the wish to see Muckross by 
moonlight. We walked down the road to the entrance of 
the ground. The care taker at the gate was upstairs in 
the lodge in bed. When we called to him to unlock the gate, 
he poked his head out of a window and ordered us away 
instantly. We offered him good pay to come down and let 
us into the grounds. "Not for a dozen pounds would I 
come down there," he yelled back at us. "How do I know 



AN IRISH FUNERAL 209 

what you are or who you be, tramping around the roads this 
time of night. You might be going to blow the top of the 
head off of me. I tell you go along wid you." We went 
along further down the road, climbed over into the en- 
closure, and without blowing off tops of heads of anybody, 
had a good time. We knew the man would not venture from 
his lodge. His fear showed the kind of times Ireland was 
living in. 

The next day I saw an Irish funeral at Muckross Abbey. 
The coffin was bojne on men's shoulders, at first. When 
they passed out of Killarney village, they put it on top of 
an immense hearse, the shape of an omnibus, and behind it 
capered along a company of old women and girls, groaning, 
bawling and shrieking by turns. Occasionally, on seeing a 
friend at the roadside, these hired mourners rested them- 
selves a moment and greeted the friend with a grin. It 
seemed a hideous performance. The grave was not dug 
when the procession reached the abbey, and there was noth- 
ing to do but wait till some one came with shovel and spade. 
In the meantime I slipped away. 

I had many long walks through the country as I footed 
it off towards Cork. Most of the peasants seemed sticking 
close to their wretched little hovels, called houses. Except- 
ing an occasional magnificent estate that I saw walled in at 
the country roadside, all seemed wretchedness. In a hun- 
dred miles I did not see a farmhouse that an American 
would regard as anything more than a barn or pig sty. 
These huts are of stone, one or one and a half stories high, 
covered with straw, and no floor but the ground. 

Wherever I talked, pitiable tales were told of bad living, 
high rents, extortionate landlords. In the midst of all the 
wretchedness and the present danger (and danger there 
is, for arrests and murders and crimes are going on all the 
time), the peasants seem rather jovial and cheery, though 
not contented. It is amazing where they get the money 
to pay the landlords. One man told me he paid thirty dol- 

14 



210 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

lars a year for a dirty little hut without a foot of ground 
or garden. It was all the house would sell for. "Yes," said 
the man, "and I would be tumbled into the road in six 
minutes if my rent were not paid; that's what all them 
constables are hanging around for." I went into many of 
the little dark farmhouses. All I saw was wretchedness — 
a pig or two, a few chickens — maybe a cow staked outside — 
some dirty children — a woman, cheery in spite of it all. 

At one little hut a peasant woman asked me to stay and 
see what her dinner was. Shortly she gave a call and the 
"brats" came running in. She took a pot from the fire and 
gave to each a few potatoes, some salt and a piece of bread, 
nothing more. The boys took their dinners in their caps. 

I was affected to tears, when the good woman put some 
potatoes on a plate and offered to divide with me, as I 
stood looking on in the doorway. "Oh, sir," she said, and 
even cheerfully, "there are many worse off than we. We 
cannot complain." The husband was off at the coast at 
work. On Sundays, he brought home a part of his wages to 
pay the rent and part of the wages he spent for drink. He 
brought a little coarse fish with him, too. 

In some houses no meals were had. The potato pot hung 
by the fire, and each helped himself out of it, whenever he 
felt hungry. 

And that was peasant life in Ireland. 

Potatoes and bread, with a bit of meat or fish on Sundays, 
seem to be the regular rations of the family. What would 
have happened had Sir Walter Raleigh never introduced 
the potato there? And what did the people live on before 
they had potatoes? 

The Irish are full of hope, and all the people look to the 
new "Land Bill" to save them. But it won't do It ! 

One day I overtook two Americans who, like myself, 
were wandering about Ireland on foot. We went together to 
Blarney Castle. We did not see the herd of white cows 
that rise up out of Blarney Lake at night, but we climbed 



THE BLARNEY STONE 211 

to the top of the castle tower (120 feet), where the youngest 
of the party caught hold of an iron bar at a window and 
let himself down outside the tower until he could reach the 
Blarney stone. Few ever venture so foolhardy a feat, or 
have the muscle to hang on by one hand at so perilous a 
height. The rest of us thought him a dead man. No won- 
der the ancient Irish firmly believed that if one could kiss 
this stone it would give him eloquence, because they knew 
it could not be kissed, not by one mortal in a million. 
The old poet was safe in saying: 

"There is a stone there 
That whoever kisses, 
Oh, he never misses 
To grow eloquent." 

There is a kind of duplicate ''Blarney stone" placed at a 
convenient and easy spot on the castle for kissing, and the 
old woman in charge smiles as she pockets the tourist's 
shilling, turns the key in the door and says to herself: 
''Lord, what fools these mortals be!" 

At Queenstown I met my wife and two little ones return- 
ing from America, the little girl suffering with a pain that 
shortly took her sweet life away from us. 

At the request of the Harper's Magazine editor for some- 
thing of the kind, I have written an article called "My Farm 
in Switzerland." My wife has illustrated it, as well as the 
one on "The Swiss Rhine." 

The farmers here seem to be doing as well on ten acres 
as our people do on quarter sections. There is the same 
complaint about mortgages and all that, of course; but 
with it all, at the end of the year, the Swiss peasant, like 
the American farmer, has made a living. 

The investigation necessary for this paper showed me 
two things. First, the Swiss are better farmers than the 
Americans. Second, they are ten times as economical, else 



212 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

they would starve to death. Economy is a fine art here. 
There is no other way to explain how it is a Swiss lives, 
even poorly, on ten acres, while the Yankee requires one 
hundred and sixty. Grass land here costs $200 an acre, 
grape land $1,000. Big farms are impossible at such prices. 
Suppose the Swiss has five acres of grape and garden 
land and ten of pasture and meadow. His investment is 
$7,000. He lives from it with less hard work than the 
American has, who owns one hundred and sixty acres, 
worth $60 an acre or $9,600. The American's investment is 
much more than that of the Swiss, his labor must be double, 
his income the same — a living. What is the matter ? It is 
this. The one saz'cs; the other wastes. Expensive farm 
machinery does not lie around the fields rusting to pieces 
in Switzerland. Horses and cattle are not thinned down 
and killed off by exposure to bad weather. Care for what 
you have earned, is the Swiss peasant's motto. Waste every- 
thing you get, is the practice of the American. After a 
while, careful foreigners will own all the farms in America, 
and the American farmer will be loafing around village 
stores, starving. Swiss economy applied to American land 
culture, would enrich every farmer in America. Economy 
is the thing that keeps the Swiss farmer from the poor- 
house. 

I give two letters from General Sherman ; the first, with 
something about the Duke of Wellington, and the science of 
war; the second, about President Garfield's assassination. 
The little girl, referred to in the first letter, was our little 
Helen, now drifting away from us, although we did not 
think it. 

"Washikgton, D. C, October 4, 1881. 

''Dear Byers: — I have your good letter of September 
21, with the slip from the London Times, which I have read 
with profit. The English cannot discuss any proposition 
without bringing in the Duke of Wellington. No man, if 



THE SCIENCE OF WAR 213 

living, would be quicker to avail himself of improved trans- 
portatign and communication than the Duke, but it would 
astonish the old gentleman to wake up and read in the Times 
of all events in America and Asia^the same day of their 
occurrence. 

"The science of war, like that of natural philosophy, 
chemistry, must recognize new truths and new inventions 
as they arise, and that is all there is of change in the science 
of war since 1815. Man remains pretty much the same, and 
will dodge all the risks of war and danger if by electricity 
and nitroglycerine he can blow up his enemy ten miles off. 
Nevertheless, manhood and courage will in future wars be 
of as much use as in the past, and those who comprehend the 
object and come to close quarters will win now as before. 

'T am very sorry to hear that your little girl is in such 
precarious health, and hope with you that the complete 
change in surroundings may bring her back to her wonted 
health. All my flock is about as well as usual, but now 
scattered. I expect Rachel home from Europe by the Celtic, 
which leaves Queenstown October 21. My aide McCook 
lost his wife at Salt Lake City and Bacon lost both his chil- 
dren, boys, this summer. 

*'We all feel the effect of Garfield's death yet, but next 
week the called session of the Senate will meet, and then 
the political pot will begin to boil and bubble. The tele- 
graph keeps you so well advised that it seems useless to at- 
tempt anything by letter. 

"Give my best love to your wife and family and believe 
me as always, 

"Your friend, W. T. Sherman.'' 

"Washington, D. C, Dec. 14, 1881. 

"Dear Byers : — I have owed you a letter for a long while, 

and though we have had enough in all conscience here to 

furnish fit topics for letters, I have known that the telegraph 

would be a long way ahead. In Europe you know as much 



^14 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

of the tragedy of Garfield's shooting and death as our own 
people in the interior, and many returned travelers describe 
the intense interest of all classes in Garfield's fate, as long 
as he clung to life. The patient submission of our people, 
and their continued endurance of the brutal Guiteau till 
he shall have had a fair trial, is most honorable to us as a 
law-abiding people, but even I am sometimes impatient at 
the law's dallying, as thrs trial draws its slow length along. 
I think the court means to make the trial so full, and so per- 
fect, that all the world will be convinced of the justice of 
the sentence of death. So intense is public feeling that if 
the fellow was turned loose, he would be stoned to death by 
the boys. 

**The transition of power from Garfield to Arthur has 
been so regular, so unattended by shock, that it proves the 
stability of the Government. I have never known a time 
when there was so little political excitement, or when the 
machinery of government worked more smoothly than now. 
There is the same outward pressure for place, but President 
Arthur fends it off with the skill of an old experienced 
hand. So I infer there will be as few changes as possible. 
Blaine goes out to-day and Frelinghuysen in, but it makes 
no more noise than a change of bank presidents. In the 
army the same general composure prevails, and we believe 
Congress will give us our 30,000 men, which will increase 
the strength of companies and thereby increase the efficiency 
of the establishment. 

"All my family continues statu quo, reasonably well, in 
our house on Fifteenth Street. Our season also seems mild 
for December, for this far we have had no signs of winter. 

"With my best love to all your folks, I am as ever, 

"Your friend, W. T. Sherman.'' 

On Sunday, as often happens after church here, the peo- 
ple were at the polls, voting as to the adoption or rejection 
of a batch of laws that had been adopted by the parlia- 



THE ''REFERENDUM'^ 216 

ment. This is the "Referendum" in action. Absolute 
order and decency prevailed, and there were no intriguing 
ward politicians hanging around the polls, to buttonhole 
voters. Voting is a responsible, dignified act with the Swiss. 
A majority of the people seem to think the "Referendum" 
operates well enough with a people so intelligent and 
patriotic as themselves, and in so small a country. Yet, 
thousands here ridicule the idea of submitting great ques- 
tions of state to be voted on by the intelligent and ignorant 
alike. In great cities, the world over, the ignorant and 
vicious are in the majority, and the laws would all be bad 
if such citizens had the decision of them. My own obser- 
vation is that even the Swiss misuse this Referendum and 
adopt just as many bad laws as they do good ones. 



CHAPTER XXIV 
1882— 1883 

VISIT NORTHERN ITALY — AMERICAN INDIANS IN ZURICH- 
DEATH OF THE POET KINKEL LETTERS FROM CARL SCHURZ 

AND THE poet's WIFE — LETTER FROM SHERMAN AS TO THE 

BOUNTEOUS MISSISSIPPI VALLEY A SECOND LETTER FROM 

SHERMAN — THE PRESIDENCY — CONVERSATIONS WITH 
SCHERR, THE WRITER — THE POET KINKEl's SON — HIS POW- 
ERFUL MEMORY — WE VISIT BERLIN — MINISTER SARGENt's 
TROUBLE WITH PRINCE BISMARCK OVER AMERICAN PORK — 
SARGENT IS APPOINTED TO ST. PETERSBURG — INDIANS AGAIN 
— BABY LIONS — VISIT AMERICA AGAIN — FUNERAL OF THE 
AUTHOR OF "'home, SWEET HOME'' — SWISS NATIONAL EX- 
HIBITION — THE SWISS WAR MINISTER VISITS ME — WE HAD 
BEEN COMRADES IN LIBBY PRISON — TROUBLE WITH FRAUD- 
ULENT INVOICES — ORIGIN OF EXPERT SYSTEM AT CONSU- 
LATE — I SUCCEED IN STOPPING THE FRAUDS — MY ACTION 
IS REPORTED AT WASHINGTON AS SAVING A MILLION DOL- 
LARS TO THE GOVERNMENT — ANOTHER LETTER FROM GEN- 
ERAL SHERMAN — HIS COMING RETIREMENT FROM THE 
ARMY. 

January, 1882. — The lake and the mountains and the 
white city do not seem so beautiful to us to-day, for the little 
girl who loved them most of all, lies in the next room cov- 
ered with flowers. 

************ 

All was changed to us this past summer. In October we 
made a fourth trip to Italy; this time to the lake regions 
at the foot of the Alps. There is something about life in 

(216) 



NORTHERN ITALY 217 

Northern Italy that seems to make a stay there almost more 
desirable than in other places in the world. The scenery is 
still Alpine, but it is the Alps with perpetual sunshine on 
them, and warm laughing lakes about them. I think the 
peasants more picturesque here than elsewhere. They carry 
red umbrellas, and the peasant women wear short skirts, 
showing bright stockings of red or white or blue. The low, 
white wooden sandals, with the red leather band over the 
instep, worn by the women, are very pretty, too. Only one 
wonders how they keep them on their feet. With every 
step the sandals go click, clack, up and down, at the heels. 
The headgear of the girls is a bit of black lace thrown over 
the head and hanging down behind. The whole outfit, with 
the pretty black eyes of the girls, the bright faces, and the 
merry demeanor, make one think that here, in the sunshine 
of North Italy, is a happy peasantry. The men also wear 
bright colors ; the poorest has at least a cravat of blue and 
a red band on his roguish soft felt hat. 

The soft Italian language, and the singers with their 
guitars in the moonlight by the lakes, add to the real ro- 
mance of the scene. 

The people of the lake regions are rather poor, spite of 
the rich productiveness of the soil. There are too many 
of them, and too many rocky heights, and mountains and 
lakes. The little stone-built villages cling to some of these 
heights like crow nests on tree tops, but somewhere, near 
to every height, on some spot of land beautiful as Eden, we 
see the gardens and villas of the rich. These are the sum- 
mer homes of the aristocrats of Milan and cities farther 
south. 

Villa Carlotta on Lake Como, sitting among the lemon 
trees, its gardens washed by the blue waters, its halls and 
salons filled with the works of genius, could tempt one to 
want to live there always. 

And Villa Giulia, on that fair promontory running out 
into Lake Lecco at Bellagio, seen of a summer evening 



218 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

with the deep blue waters on either side, the snow white 
Alps in front of it, and groves of citron and boxwood and 
lemon behind it, wakes the feehng in one that here indeed 
is the fairest scene of all ; here one could be happy. 

************ 

The other morning the staid old city of Zurich was sud- 
denly awakened by the whoop of a band of American In- 
dians. Had a cloud fallen, some of the people could not 
have been more stirred up. The wild men were the genuine 
article, in war paint and feathers. Not one Swiss in a thou- 
sand had ever seen a real Indian before. It was part of a 
band of Chippewas, being carried around Europe for exhi- 
bition. The show was a great success. Everybody went 
to see it, and even followed the strangers about the streets 
in crowds. The Indians had their difficulties, however. An 
occasional one with too much ''fire water" lay prone on the 
sidewalk or rested in the lockup. They also had quarrels 
with their manager, and daily for a time this painted band 
of my fellow countrymen came to the consulate and held 
pow wows on the floor of the office. They were a helpless - 
lot of human beings there alone, knowing nothing of the 
language, with a manager supposed to be robbing them. I 
got them out of the lockup, and out of their other many 
difficulties as best I could, and won their esteem and grati- 
tude. 

November id, 1882. — Three days ago the great Gottfried 
Kinkel was carried to the graveyard out by the foot of the 
mountains. He had been a warm friend since the day we 
came to Zurich. He was passionately fond of the Swiss 
mountains, and we have had delightful little excursions 
together. His death was sudden. One day he was stricken 
with apoplexy and could not speak. He motioned his wife 
to help him to the window, where he could once more look 
out at the beautiful mountains. He looked long and wist- 
fully at them and then waving them a farewell with his 
hcind went to his bed and died. Poetry and art and all 



LETTER FROM CARL SCHURZ 219 

things beautiful wept when Kinkel died. His funeral was 
the greatest ever seen in Zurich. He was buried by torch- 
light by the students of the University. When the grave 
was closed and the great procession of uniformed corps 
students with badges, flags and torches came back into the 
city, they marched to a public square, formed an immense 
circle and, casting their torches into a great funeral pile 
in the center, watched them burn to ashes. 

December 14. — Our American statesman, Carl Schurz, 
had been a friend of the poet, patriot Kinkel in the revolu- 
tionary times, and had also rescued him from prison and 
death. 

I wrote him a description of the funeral and received 
his reply to-day. 

"Dec. 4, 1882. 

"My Dear Sir: — I have just received your very kind 
letter of November 21st in which you describe Kinkel's 
funeral, and I thank you most sincerely for it. His sudden 
death had been reported by cable, but your letter gave me the 
first information about the last days of his life, the circum- 
stances of his death and the touching demonstration of 
popular feeling at his funeral. The letter will appear as a 
special correspondence in the Evening Post to-morrow. 

"I enclose a letter of condolence to Mrs. Kinkel, which 
I shall be greatly obliged to you for delivering or forward- 
ing. I venture to ask this favor of you as I do not know 
whether, after Kinkel's death, Mrs. Kinkel remained at 
Zurich or not. I have no doubt you know where she is, 
and where the letter will reach her. 

"Believe me, dear sir, 

"Very truly yours, C. Schurz/' 

The sweet singer had now gone to be absorbed into the 
beautiful nature of which he had talked to me when his 
daughter died. They were to be one with the flowers and 
the sunshine, but without identity. 



220 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Mrs. Kinkel, a woman bright and talented, had ideas 
not greatly different from her husband about this mystery 
called death. Once, later, I sent her my poem of "Baby 
Helene," and this was her answer: 



"Unterstrasse, den 25, 1858. 

"Geehrter Herr Consul: — Meine Freude beim Em- 
pfang Ihres Buches war wirklich aufrichtig, und ich hatte 
Ihnen so gleich meinen Dank dafiir gesagt, wenn ich nicht 
von einem und dem andern Gedicht so angezogen worden 
ware, dass ich iiber das Lesen das Schreiben zurucksetze. 
Die Gedichte an das liebe Helenchen haben mich tief ge- 
riihrt. Nur wer einen gleichen Verlust hatte, fiihlt so ganz 
den wehen Schmerz, der sich darin ausspricht mit Ihnen. 

''Wie beneide ich Sie um die Hoffnung sie dereinst wie- 
derzusehen. Mein Trost allein ist, einstmals ewig vergessen 
zu konnen. 

" 'Auf Wiedersehen' hebe ich nur noch hervor von den 
vielen, die mir besonders noch gefielen. Erst durch Sie 
bin ich darauf aufmerksam gemacht dass das in englischer 
Sprache fehlt. Wie viel Gutes verdanke ich nicht schon 
den Dichtern. 

''Hoffentlich ist Ihnen die Ausfahrt mit Lawrence am 
Sonnabend gut bekommen. Ich erkannte Sie leider erst 
im letzen Augenblick, als das Schiff schon in Bewegung 
war. 

"Griissen Sie Mrs. Byers und Lawrence sehr von mir, 
und seien Sie ueberzeugt, dass Sie mir mit dem Buch eine 
grosse Freude gemacht haben. 

''Mit vorziiglichster Hochachtung 

"ergebenst M. Kinkel.'' 

************ 

November, 1882. — Have an interesting letter from Gen- 
eral Sherman on politics and farming. 



LETTER FROM SHERMAN 221 

"Washington, D. C, Nov. 7, 1882. 

"Dear Byers: — Time and distance seemingly do dull 
the edge of correspondence, if not of friendship. Your 
letter of October 226. is received, has been seen by Mrs. 
Sherman, and shows that too long an interval has passed 
since we have written you, but you may rest assured that 
our friendly interest in you and yours is in no way lessened, 
and that news from you is always most welcome to me and 
mine. We still remain in Washington, except Minnie at 
St. Louis, Elly at Philadelphia and Tom at Woodstock, 
but all reasonably well. Last Summer Minnie lost two of 
her children, both girls, one two years and eight months 
old, the other an infant in arms. Both came East for health 
and change, though all were as healthy as kittens. Mrs. 
Sherman had taken a furnished house at Oakland on the 
very top of the Alleghanies, where all the family was as- 
sembled, but the cold nights and warm days were too much 
for the little ones, caused congestion of the stomach, fol- 
lowed quickly by dysentery and death. I have recently 
been to St. Louis and found Minnie well, and her three 
remaining children, two boys and one girl, in strong vigor- 
ous health. 

"I am now beginning to think of my own course of action 
when the law compulsorily retires me at 64 years, viz. : Feb. 
8, 1884. We have all agreed to return to our old home 
at St. Louis, and as February is a bad month for moving, 
I Vx^ill in all probability anticipate the time by a couple of 
months — move the family in October and follow myself 
in November or December. So the probability is, if you 
give up the Consulate and turn your attention to your Iowa 
farm, I will be your neighbor and rival, for I too own a 
farm in Illinois nineteen miles out from St. Louis. 

"The present has been probably the most fruitful year 
ever experienced in America, all parts alike sharing the 
general abundance. Of all this you are probably as well 
informed as I am, but when I remember that the gold 



222 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

crop of California at its best only equaled sixty-five millions 
a year, I am amazed to think of a wheat crop valued at 
five hundred millions, and a corn crop of eighteen hundred 
millions of bushels at 65 cents a bushel ; other crops in 
like proportion, and cotton estimated at six millions of bales 
of 450 pounds each at 12 cents a pound. I am especially 
glad of this, for some years, as you well know, land was 
held at a discount, all persons having money preferring 
to buy stocks or bonds which promised an income. Now 
the farming class is so comfortable, with bounteous crops, 
and good homes, that the country will draw from the 
crowded cities and towns the redundant population. The 
farming class never give the trouble which the manufac- 
turing and mercantile are always threatening. 

**To-day is the great election day of the country, more 
excited than usual by reasons of feuds and dissenters among 
the Republicans, which will enable the Democrats to elect 
their candidates. Apprehension is felt that the next Con- 
gress will be Democratic, but long heads say that success 
now, means defeat next time, when another President is to 
be elected. Washington goes right along improving and 
embellishing all the time, and I really believe we now have 
the cleanest, if not the handsomest city in the world, not 
excepting Paris. Of course we have no Alps or lakes like 
yours at Zurich, but the Potomac when walled in and its 
marshy banks converted into clean grass plots and parks will 
approximate in beauty even the Rhine. But the old Missis- 
sippi and Missouri, dirty and foul, will ever be the land of 
bounteous plenty, and will in time hold the population and 
political control of this continent. We will have plenty to 
eat and can afford to travel to see beautiful mountains and 
lakes. 

"Accept this in its length, not substance, as a measure 
of my love and respect, and believe me always, 

"Truly yours, W. T. Sherman/' 



SHERMAN FOR PRESIDENT 223 

One of our interesting visitors and friends these evenings 
is young Dr. Kinkel, son of the great poet. He is renowned 
in the city for his marvelous learning and memory. All 
that he has ever read, and he is a high classical scholar, 
he seems to know by heart. He is writing a history of the 
Byzantine Empire, and his studies for this are enormous. 

I tested his memory a little last night by questions on the 
Life of Washington. He answered as if the book had been 
open before him. Every detail and date that he has acci- 
dentally learned as to the lives of his friends, he can 
instantly recall. What was said of Macaulay could be 
said of him, ''He is a book in breeches." 

December 2j. — To-day I have a letter from General Sher- 
man. He speaks of the Presidency. Mrs. Sherman, I know, 
is just as much opposed to his entering politics as is he 
himself. 

''Washington, D. C, Dec. 12, 1882. 

"Dear Byers: — I have just received your letter enclosing 
your lines to your daughter Helen, composed to the same 
measure as 'Sherman's March to the Sea,' and have sent 
both to Mrs. Sherman for perusal. 

"Congress is now in session, and the effect of the last 
election is manifest. Though the Democrats have gained 
a large majority for the next Congress, they recognize 
that their victory is a dangerous one, for it seems to be more 
a rebuke to the Republicans for the very sins of political 
government, which the Democrats long since inaugurated 
and will carry into practice the moment they gain power, 
than a victory to the Democrats. No single man can handle 
the affairs of this country without the agency of a strong 
well organized party, and all political parties are about the 
same. 

"As to my ever consenting to the use of my name as a 
Presidential candidate, that is entirely out of the question. 
I recall too well the personal experience of Generals Jack- 
son, Harrison, Taylor, Grant, Hayes and Garfield to be 



224 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

tempted by the siren voice of flattery. It is too lil:e the 
case of the girl who marries a drunken lover in the hopes to 
reform him. It never has succeeded and never will; the 
same of any individual trying to reform the government, 
he will be carried along and involved in its scandals and 
unavoidable sins. No, I am going back next fall to St. 
Louis to spend the remainder of my days in comparative 
peace and comfort. 

''Wishing you and yours all the happiness possible in 
your sphere of action, 

''I am as always your friend, W. T. Sherman."" 



Was with Professor Scherr and others last night at the 
Orsini again. Scherr is not only a literary man, he is an 
educated German thinker. I was interested in some things 
he said about human existence. "Nine men," said he, 
''were born to serve a tenth. It never was otherwise; it 
never would be otherwise; it never could be otherwise." 
"Education of the masses is all a mistake," he continued. 
"Education only makes them discontented, and humanity is 
not bettered." I wondered to myself if this were true. 
In America, I reflected, the masses are educated. They 
are, too, the most discontented people on earth. Nobody 
ever saw an American quite satisfied with his condition. 
I observed to Prof. Scherr that in certain Italian districts 
where the people were wholly illiterate and poor, I had 
noticed many signs of happiness. "Exactly," replied the 
Professor. "They don't hear constantly of what somebody 
else has got, and so believe they have got it all. This belief 
satisfies them, they want nothing more; their ignorance is 
their greatest blessing." 

"The Swiss, though," I said, "are all educated and are 
happy." "Not a bit of it," he answered, "they are growing 
more discontented every day. They were happy till they 
got free schools and education, and till they saw your rich 




Kaiser \Yi\he\m..—Pa£-e 226. 



BISMARCK AND PORK 225 

American and English tourists living in luxury and scat- 
tering gold like French compliments. No, education with- 
out talent, is a curse. The first social revolution in Europe 
will be here within a gun shot of where we are sitting, here 
in so-called educated Switzerland." 

January, 1883. — Spent the holidays at Berlin visiting in 
the home of Mr. Sargent, our American Minister. 

Mr. Sargent had for weeks been in a stew with the 
German Government on account of their prohibiting our 
American meats. The same kind of trouble was had in 
Switzerland ; but when it happened that I was able to prove 
that the American hams in v/hich trichina were officially 
found, were Antwerp hams ''fixed up" and stamped ''Amer- 
ican," the ban on American meats to Switzerland was 
raised. 

Germany, however, for her own reasons, intended fight, 
and press and Government opposed Mr. Sargent and the 
American exporters' rights. In the train on our way to 
Berlin, a German newspaper happened to fall into my hands 
that told, not intending it, the whole story of Bismarck's 
opposition to Mr. Sargent and the American pig. On his 
great estates he had pigs himself to sell, so said the news- 
paper. I translated this article and put it in Mr. Sargent's 
hands at once. 

In a secret official dispatch to Washington, he quoted 
this German newspaper as to Bismarck's pigs, and put it 
in quotation marks. By some means the dispatch was given 
to the public by the Department, and the quotation marks 
of Mr. Sargent left out. The newspapers printed it as an 
official declaration by the American Minister at Berlin. 
Bismarck and his followers naturally were soon furious, 
and a course of action was adopted that should be as 
offensive as possible to Americans. 

We reached the capital one morning before daylight. 
Mr. Sargent met us, sent us to his house in his carriage, 
and hurried off to report our names to the Chief of Police. 

15 



226 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

We had a great laugh over it all at the breakfast table, 
when he came back. There is a fine of many marks for 
taking people to one's house in the German capital, with- 
out letting the police know who they are. It is by such 
means that Germany keeps track of everybody. 

Our Minister's home was close to the Thiergarten, and 
there we saw the old Emperor William, the Crown Prince 
Frederick and others of the royal family, walking or driv- 
ing daily. They were simple enough and were not run after 
in their walks. I was told that every time the Emperor 
leaves the palace for a drive, the fact is telephoned to 
every police station in the city, and that extra officials and 
detectives in civilian dress are abroad everywhere in parks 
and public places. It seemed to me that on all occasions 
in Berlin half the people we met were soldiers or police- 
men. 

The history of the German capital is of more interest 
than the city itself. One wonders that the Germans had 
courage to build a city on this great ugly sand plain, nor 
can one think of comparing Berlin for beauty with Paris 
or Florence, Vienna, Dresden or Washington. But Berlin 
is a great city and its collections and museums are among 
the greatest in the world. 

At one of these museums we saw the golden necklaces, 
and rich headgear of Helen of Troy. Dr. Schliemann, the 
explorer, had presented them to the German Government. 
They are of immense interest and enormous value. Every 
night the case containing them is let down into a great 
vault under the museum. The elaborate gold work of 
Helen's arm bands is as fresh and bright as if made yes- 
terday. 

At Potsdam nothing interested us so much as "Sans 
Souci," and especially the chair that Frederick the Great 
was sitting in when he died. We also stood by Frederick's 
coffin under the pulpit of the old Garrison Church. 

Our conductor let me have a candle that burned above 



THE PRINCE AND THE LIONS 227 

the coffin. I thought of the time when Napoleon stood 
in this Httle dark chamber by the body of one as great 
in Germany as he himself was in France. But both the 
great men did their countries more harm than good. 

Mr. Sargent gave one or two large dinners while we 
were at his house. There was little talk of interest, but 
plenty of good music, and plenty of good wine, which in 
a German company, might have stimulated to notable say- 
ings. Perhaps there were too many American teetotalers 
present for a good time. I notice a few turn their glasses up- 
side down, in a sort of "I am better than you" fashion. Had 
they quietly allowed their glasses to be filled, nobody would 
have asked why they did not empty them. I have noticed 
always at German and Swiss dinners how the talk sparkled 
with the wine, and how the witty things said were in some 
way a test of the quality of the stuff in the decanter. 

We went with the Sargents to the circus and saw the 
Crown Prince Frederick and his boys and girls in a box. 
The Prince had a singular and delicate way of applaud- 
ing softly, with the palm of one gloved hand on the back 
of the other. His children were all glee at the antics of the 
performers, and expressed their joy in a much more bois- 
terous way. 

An enormous closed cage of wild lions was hauled 
into the arena, and when the boards were let down and 
they saw the blinding lights and the crowds of people 
their roaring was terrific. 

A big African armed with a shotgun was let into the 
cage from an iron hood suspended against the doors. 
There was the greatest excitement. Many people in- 
stantly rose and left, fearing to see the man killed before 
their eyes. We kept our seats. There was no performing 
with the lions; it was simply a dare-devil venture to go 
among them, for they were absolutely untamed. The Afri- 
can had serious difficulty in getting back into his hood. 



228 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

It was his last act but one; the next night he was torn in 
pieces. 

In one of the pubHc halls of Berlin, we recognized 
to our surprise a party of American Indians performing 
war dances. They were the same Indians who had been 
at Zurich and whom I had helped out of serious difficulties, 
as their manager, it was claimed, had broken his contract 
and left the poor barbarians stranded. They said then 
they would never forget me. On seeing my wife and myself 
in the Berlin hall, they suddenly stopped their dancing and 
to the astonishment of the assembled spectators leaped from 
the platform, grasped me by the hand and called to each 
other: 'Tt is Mr. Byers ! It is Mr. Byers!" They were 
overjoyed at seeing some one in all Europe who had been 
kind to them. 

A little later, in March, these Indians took passage home 
on the steamer from Bremen. The vessel was wrecked, 
still in sight of land, and every soul of them drowned. I, 
too, had engaged passage on the steamer, but business 
detained me in Zurich till the next boat. 

On Sunday morning we went to the Zoological Gardens, 
where one of the keepers pleased my wife by raking a baby 
tiger and a baby lion out of their cages and giving them to 
her to hold in her arms. The lion was a chubby, woolly little 
fellow, the size of a cat and very cunning. While we 
had it in our hands, the mother stood perfectly quiet and 
glared at us as much as to say: "Hurt it, and these iron 
bars won't hold me a moment." She manifested great joy 
when the little fellow was passed back into the cage. The 
action of the tiger mother was not different, except that 
she gave a revengeful growl when she got her baby back. 

Several times in going to the city, I passed the home of 
Bismarck. It was an unpretentious place, but armed senti- 
nels walked up and down the pavement in front of it. 

At noon one day, I noticed hundreds of people standing 
in front of the Emperor's palace. I stopped to see what 



TROUBLES AT BERLIN 229 

was the matter. The increasing crowd stood there in the 
rain. "There he is," I heard some one cry out, and there 
was a doffing of hats. ''There's who?" I asked of a man 
near me. "Why, don't you see him at the window?" he 
answered. It was the old Emperor standing there, smil- 
ing. 

Once a day all Berlin can look on their Kaiser, and once 
a day the Kaiser interrupts his Cabinet council, steps to 
the front window and looks upon his people. It is much 
better than the crazy hand-shaking of the mob at the White 
House. 

On our way back to Switzerland, we stopped at beau- 
tiful Dresden. One night at the opera we saw a white- 
haired old gentleman in a box, closely following the libretto 
and the singers, whose face seemed familiar to my wife. 
It was the King of Saxony — kind old Albert who, incognito, 
had played with our children that day in the mountains, 
and to whom our little girl had cried as he left, "Good-bye 
Mr. Albert." 

Our Minister's difficulties at Berlin increased. The mat- 
ter of American pig, or no pig, became a battle between 
German and American newspapers. Correcting the false 
statement and the misrepresentations as to Mr. Sargent's 
Washington letter, helped none at all. The German news- 
papers simply did not want American meat. To American 
farmers and shippers, it meant hundreds of millions of dol- 
lars. Mr. Sargent stuck to his post and did his duty, and 
in a way, our Government supported him. One night Bis- 
marck gave a grand diplomatic dinner. How could he re- 
ceive Sargent socially when turning the cold shoulder to him 
officially? The press wondered what would happen. Of 
course our Minister had to be invited, and of course he 
had to go, or else show the white feather. Mr. Sargent 
was not the white feather kind, and he went. "Things 
went smoothly enough," he wrote me, "and the newspapers 



230 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

got no sensation to report. It was a very quiet and rather tame 
party. Of course Bismarck and I did not spend the entire 
evening talking together. He didn't effuse and I didn't 
effuse. That was all there was of it."* 

Our Government approved his course at Berlin by ap- 
pointing him Minister to St. Petersburg, but he declined. 

Sargent, on coming home, was talked of for the Presi- 
dency. An abler man, a purer patriot, a clearer headed 
statesman, is not often thought of for that exalted post. 

June so, 1883. — On the 29th of March I went to America 
on the *'Wieland." Had thirteen days at sea and twelve 
of them storm and hurricane. The ship was an old rat 
trap, on her last voyage before repairs. I did not know this 
until we were in the middle of the ocean. 

A young German, a gilded youth, the son of Prince 

, was on board with me, proposing to try gay life a 

few years in America. One day he asked me if the Ameri- 
can shop girls were all "fast," as in certain continental 
cities, and if young men were interfered with for ruining 
them. I observed that there was a difficulty; these girls 
mostly had brothers who would shoot such a scoundrel on 
sight. The princelet became pensive all at once, and seemed 
to be reflecting that his visions of fun in the United States 
were turning all to fog. 

Just before my return to Switzerland, I happened to be 
in Washington again. It was the day set for the public 
funeral of the author of "Home, Sweet Home." Corcoran, 
the Washington banker, was paying all the expenses, and 
a warship had brought the poet's remains home from 
Africa. The President and the Cabinet and all the dignitar- 
ies in Washington, as well as many invited guests, took 
part. Howard Payne had been a consul at the time of 



*At last Mr. Sargent, tired and disgusted with the situation, 
resigned his post. 



VISIT TO AMERICA 231 

his death. I was asked to participate in the ceremony, 
and went as one of the staff of General Hancock. The 
ceremonies commenced in the Corcoran Art Gallery. It 
was an impressive occasion. I felt very strange, standing 
there close by the little white coffin that contained all that 
was left of the sweet singer. President Arthur was one 
of the pall bearers. At the cemetery there were long rows 
of elevated seats for the participants. I recall sitting beside 
General Hancock and looking with interest on the magnifi- 
cent figure of the Gettysburg hero. He certainly was the 
most splendid looking military man I ever saw anywhere. A 
statue of Payne was unveiled at the grave, and a chorus 
of five hundred voices sang "Home, Sweet Home." A 
storm was threatening and black clouds hung over the 
scene. Just as the flag was being drawn aside from the 
marble face, the sun suddenly came out through a rift in the 
clouds, while at the very same instant a myriad of yellow 
butterflies fluttered and clustered about the poet's face. The 
vast multitude present saw it, and were moved to exclama- 
tions of delight. 

I visited my home out West, and returned on the 
"Hammonia." My old school-fellow, J. D. Edmundson, 
went along. We had then, and more than once afterward, 
good times together, excursioning among the Swiss Alps. 

His was a case of American pluck. When we left 
school neither of us had a penny. I soon went to the war, 
and he to a Western town to earn a fortune. Not twenty 
years went by when the penniless youth, a banker now, 
traveled the world over, with his check good for half a 
million, and his mind stored from books and travel. 

September, 188^. — The Swiss National Exhibition is open 
all this summer. Though small, the finest in detail I ever 
saw anywhere. Never saw so much of real beauty, arranged 
together. The location, too, in a great park between two 
rapid running rivers, is romantic. It is in view of the Alps 
and the beautiful lake. 



232 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

On ''Newspaper Day" I had the honor, for the 
want of a better, to reply to the toast, "The American 
Press." 

I also wrote reports of the successful exhibition to our 
Government. 

The Hon. Emil Frey, Swiss Cabinet Minister, now visited 
us out on the lake. Col. Frey had been a soldier in our 
army, was captured and suffered, with me, many horrid 
months in Libby prison. Our reunion under such different 
scenes will never be forgotten. He is a great big, generous 
man in body, mind, and heart. Because of his deserts, 
there is no post in Switzerland he can not have for the 
asking. In fact, he don't have to ask. He is one of Shakes- 
peare's men who achieve honor and also have honor thrust 
upon them. 

He was later elected President of Switzerland. 

January, 1884. — These were the days when certain unscru- 
pulous silk shippers were robbing the United States Treasury 
of almost millions yearly by undervaluation of invoiced 
goods. Honest importers were nearly driven out of the 
market. There was a constant warfare between the consul 
and the undervaluer. At last I succeeded in my own dis- 
trict, by employing (at my own expense) trained silk ex- 
perts. The plan worked well, and Uncle Sam soon employed 
experts at many of the leading consulates. There was 
tremendous profit in it for the Government. For my zeal 
in stopping the frauds, and because of my long service. 
President Arthur promoted me. A little later, an Assistant 
Secretary of the Treasury reported officially that Consul 
Byers had saved the Government in his own district not 
less than a million dollars, or enough to support the whole 
consular service for years. He urged a recognition of these 
services. General Sherman, too, had joined in asking my 
advancement. One day, later, I saw this little note among 
the Department files: 



FRIENDSHIP OF SHERMAN 233 

"22nd January, 1881. 
"Dear Mr. Secretary: — I commend Mr. Byers to the 
President's most favorable notice. He was one of my 
soldier boys, whom I released from prison at Columbia. 
He is now at Zurich, is a real poet, a good writer, and 
is one of the most modest, unselfish, and zealous men I 
ever knew. His promotion would be a beautiful recogitition 
of past services. W. T. Sherman.'" 

November 10. — Yesterday I received the following letter 
from General Sherman : 

"Washington, D. C, Oct. 24, 1883. 

"Dear Byers: — I received in due season your valued 
letter of September 30th, enclosing the editorial of the 
London Times, which I had seen, but am none the less 
obliged for the thought which suggested your action. The 
time is novv^ near at hand when I shall return to St. Louis, 
where my family is already happily domiciled. I have never 
known Mrs. Sherman more content, for she never regarded 
Washington as a hom.e, but she recognizes her present 
house as a real home. The girls seem equally satisfied. The 
actual date of my retirement is Feb. 8, 1884, but I thought it 
right to allow Sheridan to come in at an earlier date so 
as to make any recommendations he chose for the action of 
the next Congress, and I asked of the President an order 
to authorize me to turn over the command on the first day 
of November, which he did in a very complimentary way 
on that day. I will turn over my office to Sheridan with as 
little fuss or ceremony as a Colonel would do in trans- 
ferring his Regt. to the Lt. Col. 

"I will then pay a visit to Elly at Philadelphia, afterward 
New York and then St. Louis. My address there will be 
Number 912 Garrison Avenue, a house you must remember. 
I have had it fitted up nicely. We are all very well, and 
I am especially so. 



234 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

'T do not feel the least slighted in this whole business, 
for Congress has acted most liberally with me. 

*T am constantly asked how I shall occupy my active 
mind and body. I postpone all thought of this till the time 
come, but I am resolved not to be tempted into politics, 
or to enter into any employment which could bring money 
liability. 

'T hope you also will get your promotion, and then come 
home and settle on your Iowa farm. We should then be 
neighbors. Love to Mrs. Byers and the family. 

''Your friend, W. T. Sherman." 



CHAPTER XXV 
1884 

SOME INTERESTING LETTERS FROM GENERAL SHERMAN — 

REQUESTS FOR SOUVENIRS HIS '^FLAMING SWORD'' ONE 

ON THE PRESIDENCY 1 AM APPOINTED CONSUL GENERAL 

FOR ITALY — AN AMERICAN FOURTH OF JULY PICNIC ON 

LAKE ZURICH LORD BYRON's HOME IN SWITZERLAND — 

SOME OLD LETTERS ABOUT HIS LIFE THERE THE LAKE 

DWELLINGS OF SWITZERLAND KELLER, THE ANTIQUARIAN 

— POWER OF SWISS TORRENTS. 

In a recent volume of my poems, some little change had 
been made in the stanzas of 'The March to the Sea." Gen- 
eral Sherman did not like these changes, and wrote me that 
in his opinion *'no writer, having once given a thing to the 
public, had any right to change it." 

He refers again to his preference in the following letter : 

"St. Louis, Mo., Feb. 24, 1884. 

"Dear Byers : — Yours of Feb. 6th is received. I had 
previously noticed that in the printed volumes there were 
variations, especially in the 'March to the Sea.' And I 
had simply noted on the margin of my copy that I liked 
the old version the best. Indeed, I think that Minnie has 
the original which was handed me at Columbia, which 
you remember was beautifully written. I have no doubt 
you will have occasion to enlarge your volume in time, 
and the last edition will always be accepted as the standard. 

"We have had universally a hard winter, with storms 
and flood, of which you have doubtless heard as much 

(235) 



236 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

at Zurich as if you were living in Iowa. The winter now 
begins to break, we have more sunshine, the grass begins to 
grow a green tint, and even the bark of the trees shows 
signs of a change. A hard winter makes a good summer, 
and I shall expect a pleasant summer. 

"I find not the least trouble in putting in my time. Every- 
body supposes that I have nothing to do, and writes to me 
for tokens of remembrance, from a baby whistle for a 
namesake, to the 'flaming sword' I carried aloft at the. 
South, to decorate his or her library. To comply with 
their kind messages, I would need a fortune and an arsenal. 
In fact and truth, we have a good comfortable home, and 
by economy we can live out our appointed time, and 
I do aim to manage so that my children will not have 
to beg of Government some pitiable office. I will build 
a neat cottage on my Illinois farm, and two good dwelling 
houses for rent on some lots we have around here for a 
long time, on which we have been paying taxes. 

'Tn August, I will go to Minnetonka, to attend the meet- 
ing of the Army of the Tennessee. 

*'We are all reasonably well and are always glad to hear 
from you. Give my best love to Mrs. Byers, and congratu- 
late her on the development of that boy of yours. 

**Ever yours, W. T. Sherman.'' 

J^ily J. — Received a most interesting letter from General 
Sherman telling of his opposition to the use of his name 
for the Presidency. 

"St. Louis, Mo., June 21, 1884. 

*'Dear Byers: — I received your letter of June ist some 
days ago, and would have answered earlier, but had to 
go down to Carthage, Joplin, etc., in Southwest Missouri, 
to see a district of country settled up in great part by our 
old soldiers, who have made it a real garden, with nice 
farms, pretty houses, with churches, schools, etc., resem- 
bling New England, North Ohio, etc., rather than old 



NOMINATION OF BLAINE 237 

Missouri, for which the Creator has done so much and man 
so Httle. So after all, we at St. Louis must look for civiliza- 
tion and refinement to come as a reflex wave from the 
West. 

"We are now established in the very house in which 
you found us in 1875-6, in good condition, and with em- 
ployment sufficient for recreation, diversion, etc. 

''Last night I had to make a sort of an address to the 
Grand Army, in presenting the portrait of Brig. Gen. T. E. 
G. Ransom, after whom the post is named, and if printed, 
I may send you a copy. I do all that I can to keep out of 
the newspapers, but they keep paid spies to catch one's 
chance expressions, to circulate over the earth as substantial 
news. Recently I was informed by parties of National 
fame that in the Chicago Republican Convention, in case of 
a dead-lock between Blaine and Arthur, my name would 
be used. I begged to be spared the nomination but was 
answered that no man dared refuse a call of the people. 
I took issue that a political party convention was not the 
people of the U. S., and that I was not a bit afraid and 
would decline a nomination in such language as would do 
both myself and the convention harm. Fortunately Blaine 
and Logan were nominated, and they are fair representatives 
of the Republican party. Next month another set of fel- 
lows will meet at Chicago and will nominate Jeff Davis, 
Ben Butler, Tilden, Cleveland or some other fellow — no 
matter whom — and the two parties can fight it out. For- 
tunately, and thanks to the brave volunteer soldiers and 
sailors, the ship of state is now anchored in a safe harbor, 
and it makes little difference who is the captain. Our 
best Presidents have been accidents, and it is demonstrated 
by experience that men of prominent qualities cannot be 
elected. Therefore I will take little part, sure that who- 
ever occupies the White House the next four years, will 
have a hard time of it, and be turned out to grass by a new 
and impatient, disappointed set. Meantime all the fertile 



238 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

spots of a vast domain are being occupied by an indus- 
trious class, who will produce all the food needed by our 
own population and the rest of the world, and will buy 
what they need, including the silks of France and Switzer- 
land. Of course you do right in w^atching the invoices to 
see that the revenues of Uncle Sam are not defrauded, 
but if you expect to attract the notice of the State Depart- 
ment or the country, I fear you will be disappointed. 

*T will go up to Minnesota about the middle of July to 
attend an encampment of the Grand Army of the Republic, 
and will wait over at Minnetonka till the middle of August, 
for a meeting of the society of the Army of the Tennessee, 
after which I will return to St. Louis till mid-winter, when 
I will go East for social engagements and the meetings of 
the Regents of the Smithsonian of which I retain mem- 
bership. Marriages and deaths and the hundreds of inci- 
dents in every community, occupy my time so that thus far 
I have not been oppressed by ennui. I recall perfectly the 
house in Bocken in which I saw you in 1873, and sometimes 
doubt if you will be able to content yourself equally well 
in Iowa when the time forces itself on you ; but the world 
moves right along, and we must conform. 

*T am as always your friend, W. T. Sherman.'" 

July 4. — To-day, joined by all the Americans we could 
muster, and a few Swiss and English friends, we char- 
tered a pretty steamer and went to the Island of Ufenau. 
It was a nice sight to see the boat sailing along the Zurich 
waters, covered with American flags. The Swiss band could 
play none of our American airs, but "God Save the Queen" 
did just as well. 

"She's nothing but an old granny, though, and every- 
body laughs at her, privately," exclaimed an English lady 
to me as the band struck up the tune. This want of respect 
for the Queen is not so uncommon among English living 
on the continent as one would imagine. 



*'THE HAPPY ISLES'' 239 

Gladstone, too, whose name I honor, comes in for any 
amount of bullying and abusing among traveling English- 
men. "He simply ought to be hung, that's what ought 
to happen to him," I heard one Englishman bawl out to 
another Englishman once. I was not so especially surprised. 
For some reason or other, most of the English we meet 
shake their heads, when we praise the great Christian 
statesman. I wonder if only the jingo English are rich 
enough to travel. Gladstone's friends, if any abroad, are 
dreadfully silent. 

We had a fine picnic on the island to-day, with the blue 
waters of the lake about us and white Alps right in front of 
us. One American signalized himself by getting drunk. 
We left him in a farmhouse on the island. 

Came home with a glorious sunset turning the Alps into 
crimson and gold. One view like this evening would repay 
for a journey over the ocean, and we have had it almost 
daily for fifteen years. 

On reaching Bocken I found a cablegram from Senator 
Wilson saying I had been promoted to be Consul General 
at Rome. I was happier that the news came on this par- 
ticular day. When I went out on the terrace though, and 
looked at the beautiful and familiar scenes around me that 
I must leave forever, the pleasure over my promotion was 
almost turned into a pang. 

A few weeks ago, Cupples, Upham & Co., in Boston, 
printed the first edition of my volume of poems called "The 
Happy Isles." They are now sending me reviews and 
notices of the book. They are as good as I could wish. It 
was pleasant to-day, too, to receive a warm letter commend- 
ing my poems from Oliver Wendell Holmes. Some of 
them "had brought the tears to his eyes." To me this 
was sweeter praise than anything the reviewers could pos- 
sibly say. Whittier, too, wrote a pretty little Quaker letter, 
full of kind praise. One of the poems, "The Marriage of 



240 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

the Flowers," he had picked out as the best of all. I hear it 
is being much copied. "If You Want a Kiss, Why Take It" 
also seems to please the editors. A friend writes "they 
are copying it, everywhere." 

************ 

Recently we went to see Byron's home, villa "Diadati," 
a few miles out from Geneva. It is a handsome house 
with windows and balconies opening on to the lake. Here 
he wrote "Manfred," "The Dream," parts of "Childe Har- 
old" and "Darkness." 

I could not help thinking of him and Shelley and Shelley*s 
wife, sitting out there on the veranda nights, telling ghost 
stories. I came across some letters the other day, long 
out of print, written by a Swiss, who also was whiling his 
days away on this lake in 1816. The first one says, "Last 
night I met Lord Byron at Madame de Stael's. I can com- 
pare no creature to him. ^His tones are music, and his 
features the features of an angel. One sees, though, a 
little Satan shining in his eyes which, however, is itself 
half pious. The ladies are mad after him. They surround 
him like little bacchantes, and nearly tear him to pieces. I 
hold him as the greatest living poet. Every stormy passion 
is witnessed in his glance. One sees the corsair in his 
look, which, though, often is good, tender, and even melan- 
choly." 

I also have followed Byron's footsteps in his trips in the 
higher Alps. He went up into the Siinmenthal to Thun, to 
Interlacken, and the heights near to the Jungfrau. "These 
scenes," he wrote, "are beyond all description or previous 
conception." 

My boy made a picture of the old ruin of a tower near 
Interlacken, pointed out as the scene where the "Manfred" 
of the poem struggled with the spirits. Manfred was By- 
ron's best work, but the printers left the best line oi it out, 
by accident. What would Tennyson nowadays say to a 
publisher's leaving the best line out of his best poem? 



PROFESSOR KELLER 241 

Byron liked the Jungfrau better than Mt. Blanc, and 
the scenes about the upper end of Lake Geneva inspired 
him. "All about here," he exclaimed once, "is a sense 
of existence of love in its most extended and sublime ca- 
pacity, and of our participation of its good and its glory." 

His trip among the grandeur of the higher Alps did not 
tear him away from his wretched self. He could not forget 
that he was Byron, and his "Manfred," arguing with ghosts 
in the old ruin by Lake Thun, might have been a photograph 
of himself. That's what Goethe believed it to be, any- 
way. 

Last week. Professor Ferdinand Keller, the Swiss anti- 
quarian, asked me to visit the Lake Dwelling excavations 
at Robenhausen. This is an excavated village of the stone 
age, 5,000 years old, the experts think — maybe older still. 
The famous Keller himself is a marvel, and might be out 
of some other age. He is eighty or ninety years old, a 
little, short man, with white hair standing straight on end, 
shaggy eyebrows, perfectly immense in their projection 
above a pair of eyes that burn like stars. Spite of his 
many years, he is bright, cheery and active, and capable of 
labor as a boy of thirty. His face is as well known in 
Zurich as one of the city monuments. The young people 
think he has walked the streets always, and nobody expects 
him ever to die. 

His antiquarian rooms look out over the lake. Indeed 
the old stone Helmhouse is built in the lake, and it con- 
tains the greatest curiosities of the world. One day Keller 
was looking out of his window and observed some queer 
shadows of things down in the water. Investigation proved 
these "things" to be piles, on which in some remote age, 
houses and tow^ers had been built. Shortly, the shallow 
inlets of half the lakes of the country were found to have 
once been the abode of peoples. The oldest of all, like 
Robenhausen, were of the age of stone. I was glad of a 
chance to go, and excavate a little for myself in these towns 

16 



242 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

that were old and forgotten a thousand years before Pompeii 
was even born. This particular village has been perhaps 
twelve hundred feet square and stood on a platform sup- 
ported by 100,000 piles. It was three hundred feet from 
the shore and was once connected with the mainland by a 
bridge. In some of the villages once lived a people possibly 
as much civilized as the ^lexican of to-day. This is proved 
by the relics found in the later ones of looms and cloth, 
and swords and jewelry of lovely patterns. At Robenhausen 
life had been simple, but I myself dug out specimens of 
good cloth. There is nothing to see at Robenhausen save 
the myriad of rotting piles where the turf bed that took 
the place of what was once a lake has been removed. All 
the belongings of the village are buried in mud and water. 
The cedar and beech poles on which the town once stood 
had been sharpened by fire before driving. They were 
twelve feet long and eighteen inches around and stood in 
regular rows. The huts on the platform (two or three 
complete ones have been found) were one story high, 
twenty-two feet wide and twenty-seven feet long, built 
of upright poles matted together with willows and plas- 
tered with clay inside and out. The floors, too, were plas- 
tered and the roofs were made of rushes. The remains of 
grinding stones and mills have been found in every cabin. 
Not the sign of a hieroglyphic or an alphabet has ever 
been found, to show who those people were. 

I prepared for Harper's Magazine a paper called *'The 
Swiss Lake Dwellers," describing the excavations at all 
the Swiss lakes up to the present time. A Swiss artist 
illustrated it for me.* 

************ 

We hear much of the awful force of Swiss mountain 
torrents. The other day I saw what is ordinarily a brook 
suddenly rise and sweep thousands of tons of huge rocks 



♦Harper's Magazine No. 477. 



THE ARTIST ROLLER 243 

on to farms in the valley. The debris of rock and granite 
was from three to ten feet deep for a mile. The force of 
these streams is simply tremendous beyond belief — the 
fall is so great; even the wide river Reuss falls 5,000 feet 
in thirty miles. 

It is a constant wonder why people build homes and 
hamlets in the way of these awful torrents when their de- 
struction some day is almost certain. However, it is on a 
par with their building villages on mountain crags and on 
almost unapproachable slopes when there is plenty of level 
land in the word. 

Yesterday Roller, the animal painter, asked us to take tea 
in his studio. Congressman Lacey and his wife went with 
us. Roller is pronounced, by the Swiss at least, to be the 
greatest animal painter living. He had a splendid harvest 
scene on the easel — storm coming up, peasants hurrying 
to get the hay on the wagon, the threatening sky, the uneasy 
horses, their tails and manes, like the dresses of the girls, 
blown aside with the wind. It seemed to me I never saw 
so much action in a picture. Roller was threatened with 
blindness not long ago, when the prices of his pictures went 
sky high. Agents were sent out of Germany to buy them 
up at whatever figure. His great painting of the St. Goth- 
ard diligence crossing the Alps is famous. Nothing finer in 
the way of galloping horses and mountain pass scenery can 
be imagined. His home and studio are on a little horn 
of land running out into the lake. He keeps a herd of his 
own cattle for painting, and every day these beautiful dumb 
helpers of his are seen in the shallow water of the lake. 
Mrs. Roller poured the tea for us. She looks like an artist's 
wife. Roller is a big, full-bearded German-looking Swiss, 
seventy years old, who is beloved all over the little republic 
for his supreme art. Switzerland has four great names 
in art : Calame, Stiickelberg, Bocklin, Roller. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

1884 

start for italy — the cholera — ten days in quarantine 

on lake maggiore a heroic king we are presented 

to queen margaret american artists in rome — the 

royal balls — ^receptions and parties meet many 

people of note — the hills of rome — minister astor 
and his home — hugh conway — ibsen — marion craw- 
ford one of the bonapartes keats' room the 

cardinals ischia destroyed christmas in rome — 

letter from general sherman — his views of rome — 
Cleveland's election — franz liszt again. 

August 4. — Sunday evening I walked from Bocken to 
Zurich to take the train for my new post at Rome. Walked 
along the Albis hills above the lake, ten miles. It was a 
delightful summer evening and the view of mountains and 
lake seemed finer than ever before. I could not help stop- 
ping many times to turn round and drink in the glorious 
scene, possibly for the last time. It was the only time 
I ever shed tears on leaving a scene of beauty. Besides I 
was leaving Switzerland, where I had had fifteen happy 
years. 

It was a dangerous time to go to Italy. The cholera 
was raging in Spezia not less than in Marseilles and Tou- 
lon. Many Italians were flying home from the scourge- 
stricken districts, and at the last moment I learned that a 
quarantine had been established on the Italian frontier. 
I hoped, however, to get through at a little village on 
Lake Maggiore. To my surprise all the lake region was 

(244) 



THE CHOLERA 245 

filled with guards and I was soon arrested and cooped up 
with a thousand others at an old sawmill by the lake. 

For ten long days I walked alone up and down the 
upper floor of that big sawmill, every hour expecting the 
cholera to break out among the crowd of refugees down 
in the yard. Once a day a guard was sent to conduct me 
down to the lake, where I could go in and swim. What 
a treat that was for me! The guard stood on the shore 
with fixed bayonet, watching that I did not swim out too 
far and get away. Mrs. Terry, our good American friend, 
happened to be spending the summer in the mountains 
near by. She heard of me and, like a good Samaritan, 
brought me grapes and other delicacies. We could only 
stand and talk to each other at a distance with the line of 
guards between us. 

One morning I received a great big document, it looked 
like a college diploma, saying that I had finished with the 
quarantine and could proceed on my way. 

In the early morning twilight I crossed beautiful Lake 
Maggiore in a row boat, and like a bird let loose from its 
cage flew away to Rome. 

Once on a time when my wife and I had been in Rome 
visiting, a lady friend said to us just as we were about 
leaving: "Come first with me to the fountain of Trevi, 
throw a penny into the water, and you will return to Rome." 
We went one beautiful moonlight night and tossed our 
coins into the fountain. And now, sure enough, here I was 
again in the Eternal City. 

The officials of the consulate met me at the train. I 
went through another terrible fumigation for the cholera, 
and was soon settled down to live in Italy. The office was 
at once moved to Palazzo Mariani, 30 Via Venti Settembre, 
and there later we made our home, when it was safe for my 
family to follow me. 

My friends, Congressman Lacey and wife, who seemed 
to be about the only strangers in Rome, also met me. We 



246 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

stopped at the great, big, empty ''Hotel di Roma." We 
had it all to ourselves, and we had much amusement with 
the waiter, who understood none of our lingo, nor we his, 
further than the word "ancora" (more). The little mugs 
of milk he brought us for our figs, were but spoonfuls, so 
we constantly cried "ancora !" He smiled, and the mugs 
came almost by the dozen. I was no little surprised to see 
on my bill a long list of repeated charges, sometimes writ- 
ten out, sometimes dotted down, for half a yard. It was 
the word "ancora," at a half a franc apiece. 

The Laceys left Rome, after taking one long, last look 
at me at the station, for they believed they were leaving 
me there to die of the cholera. 

Rome was as silent as a grave that summer. Everybody 
seemed seized with a panic, and fled to the sea or the moun- 
tains. I was indeed lonesome, and with just half of an 
attack of cholera would have probably succumbed. I saw 
little but closed shop windows, silent streets, and men going 
about the alleys and corners scattering lime and disin- 
fectants. Everybody I knew or met carried a bottle of 
"cholera cure" in his coat pocket for there was danger 
any moment of tumbling over in the street. Away from the 
office I scarcely met a soul I could talk with. Suddenly 
I bethought myself of my friend Frank Simmons, the 
sculptor, and was at once ensconced with him in the rooms 
above his studio. When not busy at the consulate I could 
spend my time watching him turn his live models into 
clay and marble, and in the beautiful summer nights we 
sat up in his rooms and talked of art, and America, till 
midnight. 

Mr. Hooker, the banker, (what American that ever went 
to Rome in the last twenty-five years did not know him?) 
invited Mr. Simmons and myself to supper. He lived in the 
palace once owned by Madame Bonaparte, the mother of 
Napoleon. Here she died. The chambers were still filled 
with paintings and sculpture and other souvenirs of the 



AN HEROIC KING 247 

Napoleon family. That night Mr. Hooker, Mr. Simmons 
and myself sat till towards the morning round the little 
table in the very room where Napoleon's mother spent her 
evenings thinking of her eight children, seven of whom 
were kings. 

In a few weeks, the scare over, the people commenced re- 
turning. Then the cholera broke out in Italy sure enough. 
It was at Naples now, and with horrible fatality. 

The brave King Humbert took train and went there to 
help and to encourage the afflicted. He went into the hos- 
pitals everyvv^here, took the sick by the hand, and possibly 
helped many a dying one to take courage and live. He 
took his own provisions with him, even drinking water, 
from Rome, and whenever he went among the sick he 
smoked constantly. His staff complained he was leading 
them all to death, but they had to follow into dens and 
holes and hospitals more dangerous than a battle field. 

September. — My family have come, and now we are all 
living at the Consulate, Via Venti Settembre 30. 

The King came back to Rome from cholera-stricken Na- 
ples a day or two ago. He has become the greatest hero in 
Italy. I never saw such a reception. The main streets of 
Rome were packed solid with human beings, trying to touch 
the King's extended hand, his horses, the wheels of the 
carriage. The beautiful Queen Margaret sat at his side 
smiling and bowing right and left. The young Crown 
Prince sat on the front seat. I did not know a King could 
be loved so by his people. But this King was a hero. 

The Van Marters had asked me to view the procession 
from their balcony on the Via Nazionale. They had hung 
out American flags. The King saw the colors, took off his 
hat and profoundly greeted them as he passed. 

I never saw a President receive half the ovation that this 
King did, riding through Rome with his Queen and son, 
and without any escort or signs of royalty whatever. The 



248 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

vast crowd were simply mad with pride, enthusiasm and love 
for their King and Queen Margaret. 

October. — It is easy enough to get acquainted in Rome, 
at least for an official ; besides, there are many of one's coun- 
trymen living here, and parties and receptions are the order 
of the day and night through the entire social season. The 
members of the consular and diplomatic corps we soon 
met, and then there are so many American artists here 
worth knowing whose studios are open to all lovers of the 
beautiful. We made immediately the acquaintance of U. S. 
Minister and Mrs. W. W. Astor at their home in the 
Rospigliosi palace. There we met many interesting people. 

Mrs. Astor is a young and very beautiful woman, and 
very charming in her manners. They have two pretty chil- 
dren. Mr. W. Waldorf Astor, though a multi-millionaire, 
personally leads a simple life in Rome. He is a close stu- 
dent. Every bright morning sees him riding with an anti- 
quarian among the outskirts and ruins of the city. He is 
an acknowledged authority in kindred matters and his 
papers on the discoveries in Yucatan and elsewhere, read 
before one of the learned societies here, attracted attention. 
He is not playing ambassador as an amusement. His 
legation business is as closely attended to as if he were a 
poor, hard-working clerk in need of a salary. There is 
no ostentation about him personally. Officially, he attends 
to it that the social position of the United States Minister 
is what it should be. 

One night at a dinner party he was relating the incident 
of a Union soldier who had donned a gray uniform once 
and entered the Rebel army at Atlanta. He had read a 
description of this soldier's experiences and hairbreadth 
escapes in the Atlantic Monthly, and had been extraordinar- 
ily impressed. The soldier's name, as he remembered it, 
was the same as my own. Could we be related? I aston- 
ished him by saying that I was more than related, that I 
was the soldier myself, and the article in the Atlantic was 



KEATS' ROOM 249 

my own. Mr. Astor grasped my hand, saying he had 
thought of that soldier's action a hundred times. My nar- 
rative had made Mr. Astor a friend. He rarely intro- 
duced me to a friend after that without adding: ''He is 
the man who went into Atlanta." 

The palace where Mr. Astor lives is the same that our 
Minister Marsh occupied when I was here some years ago. 
It is built on the ruins of the Baths of Constantine. 

I have looked everywhere trying to find the "hills" of 
Rome, but almost in vain. They can barely be located, and 
are not half as defined as the hills of Boston. 

Yesterday I went to look at the apartment where the 
consulate used to be by the Spanish stairway. The consul's 
little back room is where the Poet Keats died. I could think 
I saw him lying there waiting for beautiful death to come, 
and I seemed to hear him say to his friend Severn: "I 
already feel the flowers growing over me." And I saw 
Severn too, forgetting his easel, to sweep and cook and wait 
and watch all the nights alone, till the beautiful soul of 
Keats should take its flight. The room is a poorly lighted 
common little bedroom where the poet died, but it will be 
visited many a day in memory of one who lived, not 
between brick walls, but in high imaginations. We also 
went to the poet's simple grave, as we had often done before, 
and looked at the green sod above one who 

Had loved her with a love that was his doom. 

It was the love for Fannie Brawn and not the bitter pens 
of the Quarterlies, that killed John Keats after all. Severn 
found that out only six short years ago, when the love letters 
from Keats to Fannie Brawn were placed in the now old 
man's hands. 

December 28. — Spite of bad weather we are having some 
wonderful sunsets lately, and strangers in Rome linger long 



250 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

on the Spanish stairway to enjoy a scene they have so often 
heard of — a sunset by the Tiber. 

Last night Madame Bompiani invited us to tea with her. 
She Hves at the Hilda's tower palace, celebrated by Haw- 
thorne, in the "Marble Faun." Her husband is a well-known 
Roman lawyer, and she herself writes interesting letters to 
the Chicago Interior. We learned much about things in 
Rome direct from him, and after the supper we were taken 
up to the tower. 

One of the guests was Aladame Guyani, a sister of the 
hostess. She was a fine conversationalist and interested us 
much. Only a few months ago she was a sufferer in the 
terrible earthquake at Ischia. She is still lame as a result of 
the experiences of that fearful night. She told us all about 
the earthquake. The night of the disaster she wandered 
or crept about the fields till morning. The parts of the island 
which were nothing short of an earthly paradise in the even- 
ing were only piles of ruins and dead people in the morning. 
It was as if Eden had been struck by a thunderbolt, only 
here there was a happy, unsuspecting people to be suddenly 
hurled out of existence. 

Sunday. — Instead of going to church I stay in Mr. Frank- 
lin Simmons' studio and watch him making a bust of 
Marion Crawford, the novelist. He has a good subject, 
for Marion Crawford is a large, handsome man with a fine 
figure and a genial face. There was a joking dialogue going 
on as to whether it is the great novelist now sitting to the 
sculptor Simmons or the great sculptor Simmons doing the 
face of a novelist, each modestly insisting the other only 
had claims on immortality. I liked Crawford and his genial 
w^ays. I had just finished reading his ''Roman Singer." 

Frank Simmons seems to me to be the best sculptor in 
Rome, though he is not yet the most celebrated. He does 
not seem to try to seek fame; but lets it seek him, which 
it is doing. Marion Crawford, too, I know, regarded Sim- 



CONSULAR CLERKS 251 

mons as the best sculptor living, and some day he will make 
him the hero of a great novel. 

Italy is called the land of art and yet curiously there are 
few great Italian artists. Its galleries sometimes seem to 
me like opened coffins, where one beholds among the bones 
the jewel work of some dead age. I feel here much as I felt 
in Berlin when looking on the golden necklaces of Helen of 
Troy, dug up by Schliemann. All the fine paintings and 
marbles here in Rome seem like the ruins, relics of another 
time. Foreign artists by the hundred, live and work here 
for the inspiration they get from the fragments of the past. 
They taste the wine made good with age and mix some of it 
in the bottles of new wine of their own making. There are 
more imitators in Rome than anywhere else in the world. 

The duties of the consulate here are nothing compared 
with Zurich or with any other commercial consulate. The 
office is often full of callers, but their errands are visits of 
courtesy or to have passports issued and the like. The 
trade of Rome with America is insignificant. 

There are two regular consular clerks here, burdened 
with nothing to do. The laws provide for some thirteen of 
these "regulars" in the consular service, who hold their 
places for life. They are rarely promoted, and grow gray 
doing little. One good, hired clerk whose staying in de- 
pends on his zeal and fitness and not on his self-importance, 
is worth a dozen of them. They should be made responsible 
to somebody. The salary of the Consul General does not pay 
his expenses in Rome. 

Palazzo Mariani, where we live, is a very magnificent 
structure outside, with great white marble stairways within, 
leading from floor to floor. But it is cold as a sepulcher. 
No stoves and no fire-places save one little niche in the wall, 
where a few burning fagots scarcely change the temperature. 

At night we come home (very late, as parties only begin 
at nine or so), and go to bed in a big cold bedroom with 



252 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

a brick floor. Our so-called cook stove is a little iron box 
heated with charcoal, in a kitchen about five feet square, 
but Antoinette seems to know how to broil a kid on it 
every day. 

Our drawing-room is heated (?) by the fagots in the 
niche in the wall ; but even this is too warm for our Italian 
friends, who, when they call, apologize and go and sit in 
the back end of the room as far from the so-called fire as 
possible. 

We have our furniture here from Switzerland, and to 
us that is a comfort. Occasionally a couple of priests come 
into our house without asking and walk about through all 
the rooms, sprinkling holy water on the beds as is a custom 
here. On going out, they indicate their willingness for a 
fee, which is not surprising in a land where feeing is uni- 
versal. 

Like most modern houses in Rome, our big palace is built 
on top of a series of old arches that once supported the 
houses of ancient Rome. From our cellar we can prowl 
around unknown distances through these mysterious cham- 
bers. 

The water for the house is still conducted from the Alban 
hills in one of the old Roman aqueducts. It is a queer com- 
bination, this old and new in Rome. 

Mr. Astor had written me that last night my wife and I 
were to be presented at court. At ten we were climbing 
the magnificent stairs of the Quirinal palace to be presented 
to Queen Margaret. Gorgeously imiformed sentinels stood 
on the stairway left and right. We were shortly escorted 
to one of the great drawing-rooms of the palace, where we 
found other ladies and gentlemen also waiting to be pre- 
sented. In a little while we were all directed to stand in 
line around the walls of the drawing-room. A dead silence 
ensued, and then the Queen of Italy entered at our right, 
escorted by the Marchesa Villa Marina, who had in her 



QUEEN MARGARET 253 

hand a list of all of our names. A few moments before she 
had passed along the line whispering to each of us and con- 
firming the correctness of her list. Queen Margaret turned 
to her left as she passed in and very graciously greeted a 
young Italian lady, whom she seemed to know personally. 
She extended her hand to the young lady, who, greatly 
honored, blushed and looked very pretty. This was the 
only instance where the Queen gave her hand that evening. 
As she started along the line toward us she halted before 
each one. The Marchesa promptly made the presentation, 
when the Queen bowed very sweetly and made some re- 
marks. I noticed that in each case she spoke the language 
of the lady or gentleman presented. I could hear her speak- 
ing German, Italian, French. Certainly she cannot speak 
English, I meditated, but in a moment our turn came. Our 
names were pronounced, and the Queen commenced in very 
agreeable English. Her manner was extremely winning, 
kind and simple. She "knew we would like Rome," she 
said. "Everybody did, and she hoped our stay would be 
long and very happy." She wore an elegant gown, cut ex- 
tremely low, revealing a fine form. Around her neck was 
the famous pearl necklace, to which the King adds a string 
of pearls every birthday. She carried an enormous white 
fan of ostrich plumes which she constantly waved while 
she talked with us. She looked the queen, and I thought 
more German than Italian. Her whole bearing was gracious- 
ness. Her smile seemed as sincere as beautiful, and no one 
but would call her a happy, beautiful woman. 

The presentation over, we will now be entitled to invita- 
tions to the palace balls and other public functions. There 
is an American lady here at court whom we knew in Switzer- 
land. It is the Countess Ginotti, formerly Miss Kinney, of 
Washington. Her husband is a court official and is en- 
trusted with important duties. 

Last night we went to our second court ball at the Quiri- 
nal. A week following our presentation we had had the 



254 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

customary invitation to the first. We go at ten at night, 
ascend the same brilHantly lighted stairway as at the 
presentation, and even more gorgeously uniformed senti- 
nels line the way on left and right. 

The dress is prescribed; gentlemen in evening attire of 
course — there is nothing else a man can do but dress himself 
in mourning and call it festive ; but so many ladies, in their 
elegant, light gowns and extremely low bodices, with swan 
white necks and shining diamonds, made a lovely scene. 
We shortly found ourselves seated among five hundred other 
guests in a brilliant ballroom of the palace. A raised dais 
and a royal chair stood at the end in front of us. There was 
a little gossip with each other, a little wondering at the 
gorgeous gowns, when suddenly the music from a lofty 
gallery proclaimed the coming of the court. Instantly, 
side doors unfolded, and King Humbert with Queen Mar- 
garet on his arm, marched toward the raised platform, fol- 
lowed by the court officials and all the Ambassadors in Rome 
in gala attire. We all rise, the ladies courtesying and the 
men bowing, as the King gracefully swings Queen Mar- 
garet into her seat and takes his place, standing beside her 
chair. There is some more bowing and smiling and courtesy- 
ing. The music changes for the dance and the guests look 
on while the Queen and the Ambassadors and their wives 
dance the royal cotillon. The Ambassador of Germany, 
the head of the diplomatic corps, dances with Queen Mar- 
garet. It is all very lovely, though some of us guests feel we 
could beat the dancing all to pieces. In a few moments the 
Queen is back on the dais talking with the ladies privileged 
to surround her. The music has changed and some of the 
five hundred present are swinging in the waltz. 

All has been simple and beautiful. Such a ball might 
take place in the extremest republic in the world. Some 
formality, some etiquette, there must be everywhere. While 
the others dance, the Queen and the King talk with the 
ladies, with the Ministers, and the Ambassadors. I was 



THE CAMPAGNA 255 

close to the King at different times in the evening. He was 
as unpretending as any other gentleman in the room. He 
seemed to have a bad cough, and his great eyes sometimes 
glanced around in a strange way. His mustache is almost 
as big and bristling as was his father's, Victor Emmanuel. 
He has a kindly, earnest look, and Italy has in him a patri- 
otic King. At midnight everybody repaired to little marble 
tables in an adjoining room, where most expensive re- 
freshments were served. Every one seemed to have a 
bottle of champagne to himself. I never saw such a flowing 
of wines, yet all managed to keep sober. The ball souvenirs 
presented to every guest were all made in Paris and of 
every conceivable and lovely design. 

We are not far from the 'Torta Pia," and often go out 
walking or driving on the Campagna. Much of this barren 
land was a graveyard once, and splendid broken marble 
tombs still stretch away for miles. One can guess at the 
enormous wealth of the old city by walking for hours among 
the fallen columns and broken tombs of the rich out here on 
the Campagna. It is as if a wilderness of marble trees had 
at some past time been torn down by a whirlwind, and 
only the debris left behind. 

The most impressive scene about Rome is the great 
aqueducts by moonlight, as they stretch across this waste of 
the Campagna. They are one hundred feet high and built 
on immense arches. One gets an idea of what the popula- 
tion of Rome must have been, on reflecting that at one time 
there were twenty-four of these canals through the air for 
carrying water into the city, and that fifty million cubic 
feet of water a day flowed into Rome through them. I 
was surprised to learn that hundreds of miles, too, of these 
aqueducts were built under ground. A tunnel a few thou- 
sand feet long we regard as a wonder at home, but some of 
these aqueducts were thirty-six miles at a stretch, under 
ground. 



256 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

The Campagna was honeycombed in all directions by these 
strange canals, and the miles of arches above ground to-day 
impress one more than does the Coliseum. 

However desolate the Campagna to-day, in the olden 
time it must have been a wonder with its catacombs and 
canals under ground and its magnificent tombs, pillars and 
aqueducts above ground. 

Evenings when the weather is fine we see the Cardinals 
with their cassocks and hats of flaming red, taking the air. 
They drive over from the Vatican in closed carriages and 
when once on the Campagna get out and walk about. 

Next to the Cardinals, these Campagna shepherds are 
picturesque and interesting. They wear leather leggings, 
sheepskin jackets, goatskin breeches with the long hair 
outside, a red sash and a rakish hat. They look very much 
like stage villains, which they are not. When they ride 
into town, two or three on the same donkey, they make 
a remarkable figure; but a very miserable one, when the 
one behind is seen jabbing the donkey with an awl to make 
him go faster with his load of vagabonds. 

January, 1885. — Christmas Day we went to see the mag- 
nificent ceremonies in the church called the Santa Maria 
Maggiore. Its forest of vast marble columns was wrapped 
in hangings of crimson and gold. The priests, bishops, car- 
dinals and other dignitaries wore the most gorgeous regalia 
of the church. 

At the height of the ceremony a part of the Holy Manger 
in a crystal chest was borne up and down the aisles, among 
the kneeling, praying multitudes. Whatever the history of 
this relic, I think it was regarded that day by every one pres- 
ent as very sacred. I never saw a multitude so impressed 
with one thought. To many present, death itself could not, 
I think, have caused deeper emotion. 

Great church ceremonies are all the time going on in 
Rome, and as there are more than three hundred church 
buildings, one can go to a different place every day in the 




Pope Leo Xlll.—Pa^'e 261. 



AUTHOR OF ''CALLED BACK" 257 

year. Not at the Sistine Chapel alone, with its "Last Judg- 
ment" scenes, its moving music and officiating Pope, need 
one be interested; in dozens of churches great things are 
always going on. 

A few evenings ago we were invited to a party at the 
Danish consul's. Met a number of interesting people, but 
the lion of the evening was Ibsen, the great dramatic writer. 
He is a little short man with a big head, a great shock of 
white hair, and twinkling eyes. I talked with him some in 
English. Famous as his dramas are, I knew little about 
them, and our few minutes' talk was on indifferent subjects, 
not worth remembering or jotting down ; only he talked like 
a very genial, open-hearted man. 

The next day there was an afternoon reception at our 
own home, and among our guests was Hugh Conway, the 
author of ''Called Back." He went with me to a little 
corner in the dining-room, where we had a chat about his 
famous story, his own past, and his future hopes. He had 
been an auctioneer in England, and on trying his hand at 
stories was astonished to find himself suddenly famous. He 
was simple, kind and communicative as a child. Shortly 
his wife joined us, agreeable as himself, and they were 
promising much to themselves from another season, which 
they intended spending in Rome. And we were going to be 
friends. He told me of their children in England. We 
emptied a glass to the children's health, and the next day 
they started for Nice. He took a cold on the way, and a 
little later came the sad news that the lovable man was dead. 

Almost every day, afternoon or evening, we go to recep- 
tions. Half the Americans living here give them, to say 
nothing of those given by the English, French and other 
foreign residents whom one happens to know. One meets 
a sprinkling of Italians at all of them, but this is by no 
means Roman society. That is something that few foreign- 
ers know very much about. The receptions are all about 
17 



258 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

alike, though differing in interest of course, according to 
the personaHty of the entertainers. People come to them 
and stand up and gossip a little ; some pretty girls pour tea, 
and occasionally there is a song by some visiting celebrity. 
Getting a ''celebrity" to be at one's receptions and parties, 
by the way, is a part of a society woman's bounden duty 
in Rome. What lions have we not met at these delightful 
afternoon and evening affairs — Liszt, Crawford, Ibsen, 
Rogers, Fargus, Bonaparte, Houghton, the Trollopes, Wal- 
lace, and how many others less great. One meets most 
of them just long enough for a cup of tea together, or a 
glass of wine, a hand shake, a few words, and then ''au 
revoir." Yet the memory of it all remains. 

Rome is always full of great people and they all seem 
to like to be lionized. Then there are the distinguished ar- 
tists of many countries who live here by the hundred, and 
who honor the hostess and sometimes themselves, by drop- 
ping in at these receptions for a stand-up cup of tea and 
a general hand shake. 

We have attended three, four, even half a dozen recep- 
tions the same day. If ever I go into business in Rome it 
will be to sell tea to people who give receptions. A man 
of war could float in the tea poured out here by pretty girls 
every afternoon. 

Some of the artists also, like Ezekiel, the sculptor, give 
unique little receptions in their picturesque studios. These 
are almost the best of all. 

Had an interesting letter from General Sherman yes- 
terday. 

"St. Louis, Mo., Nov. 14, 1884. 

"Dear Byers: — I was very glad to receive your letter 
of October 28, from Rome, telling us that you are now fairly 
established in the Eternal City. Somehow that renowned 
city did not make the impression on me that its fame war- 
ranted, but I was told that it grew upon every man who 



PRESIDENT CLEVELAND 259 

dwelt there long enough. I hope you will experience that 
result, and realize not only contentment, but gather much 
material for future literary work, because I fear your 
diplomatic career is drawing to a close. It now seems almost 
certain that all the little petty causes of discontent and oppo- 
sition inside the Republican party have united with the 
Democrats and elected Cleveland President. When installed 
next spring he will be a stronger man that he has credit for, 
if he can resist the pressure sure to be brought on him, and 
consulships will be in great demand, for distance lends en- 
chantment, and exaggerates the value of such offices. I 
have no fear of violence, and believe that Cleveland, will 
not allow the solid South to dictate to him. If he does, and 
the old Rebels show the cloven foot, the reaction four years 
hence will be overwhelming. 

"We are all very well in St. Louis, and the autumn has 
been beautiful, crops good and bountiful, general business 
dull by reason of apprehended change of tariff, but the 
country growing steadily all the time. My daughter Rachel 
is in Maine on a visit to the Blaines, at this critical period. 
Mrs. Sherman is at Philadelphia on a short visit to our 
daughter Elly, so that the family here is small. I expect to 
make a short visit to New York and Washington about 
Christmas, with which exception I propose to remain quiet. 
Time, with me, glides along smoothly and I am amply con- 
vinced that I was wise in retiring just when I did. I don't 
believe the Democrats will materially hurt the army, but 
they will make Sheridan's place uncomfortable. I visited 
Des Moines in September and found it a prosperous, fine 
city. I should suppose you might make it your home, devote 
your time to literature, and give general supervision to your 
farm. I'm afraid, however, that you have been so long 
abroad that it will be hard to break yourself and family into 
the habits of Iowa farmers. Give to Mrs. Byers and son 
the assurance of our best love. 

'Tour friend, W. T. Sherman." 



260 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

The other night we were at a private musicale, next door 
to one of the hotels. Some girls, and a certain princess, 
played and sang extremely well. In the midst of the evening 
the door opened and who should walk in? It was Franz 
Liszt. He was in his slippers just as he had been in his 
room next door. He had heard the music and had just 
dropped in. Quite a little emotion was created among us all, 
when after standing and listening a little bit, he went 
straight over to the young girl at the piano and put a 
rousing kiss on her forehead. She blushed, and was 
stamped for immortality. To her last hour she will remem- 
ber that approving kiss of the master. 

After the musicale I was presented and was glad he re- 
membered me so well from Zurich. He recalled a kissing 
scene that I had witnessed there as well, and laughed heartily 
about it. 

But Liszt is getting old. He has had his day of great 
life. What genius and a great deal of work can do for a 
man in this world anyway ! Liszt, with his genius, worked 
too at the piano like a galley slave, years before any soul 

applauded. 

************ 

Yesterday, one of the Bonapartes came to the office on 
some business. It was Napoleon Charles. He owns the villa 
Bonaparte and is a rich man, for his villa grounds are to be 
sold off at great prices for the new Rome rapidly building. 
I observed him closely because I had been told that his is 
the real Bonaparte face. He is taller than was the First 
Consul. His family name is still a power in Rome. It in- 
terested me to see one who is closely connected with the 
Great Napoleon. He wrote me a pretty French note of 
thanks, and that is pasted in among my autograph letters 
from interesting people. 



CHAPTER XXVII 
1885 

STILL IN ROME — PRESENTED TO POPE LEO XIII — STORY, THE 
POET SCULPTOR — RANDOLPH ROGERS — TILTON — ELIHU VED- 
DER — ASTOR RESIGNS — SECRETARY OF LEGATION DIES WITH 
ROMAN FEVER — I AM PUT IN CHARGE OF LEGATION — CAPRI 
— GOVERNOR PIERPONT — THINGS SUPERNATURAL — TALK 
AGAINST GLADSTONE — SHAKESPEARE WOOD — SENATOR 
MOLESCHOTT, A REMARKABLE MAN — INTERESTING LET- 
TERS FROM GENERAL SHERMAN — PARTY STRONGER THAN 
PATRIOTISM ; MY RECALL — MONEY LENDING AND TAXES — 
KEEP OUT OF DEBT. 

February, 1885. — On Sunday morning we (myself, wife 
and son) together with others, were presented to the Pope, 
Leo XIII. The card of notification told us how we should 
dress. Full evening suit, with black cravat and black gloves 
for the gentlemen; black silk dress for the ladies, with 
black lace veils over the head, instead of bonnets. Our car- 
riage entered the court yard at a private entrance, where 
dismounting we entered at a side door and went up the 
Bernini stairway. The Swiss guards, glad to hear their own 
tongue spoken, were very polite to us. Colonel Schmidt, 
their commander, is also a personal friend, who had visited 
us in Switzerland. He soon turned us over to the Pope's 
personal body guard. These are young Roman nobles. 
We were led through a labyrinth of apartments, and put in 
charge of some of the court officers at the reception room. 

"The reception will take place in just thirty minutes," 
said one of the officials, and this gave us time to look out 

(261) 



262 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

of the window, and wonder what part of the enormous pile 
called the Vatican, we were in. 

Outside, the four thousand room building, with its two 
hundred stairways, looks like an ugly collection of big yel- 
low factories. Inside, it is all magnificence. We were 
standing in rooms where the Popes ruled Rome, at a time 
when Rome ruled the world. The history of a thousand 
years was made and written under this roof. The genius 
of many ages found a resting place here. Here for centuries 
God, himself, was supposed to have his only agent on earth. 

Just as we were meditating on all this, a rustle of officers 
entering the room is heard. We are placed in a line, single 
file, around the walls of the apartment. "You will all kneel," 
whispers an official, "as his Holiness enters." That moment 
the door opened, and Leo XIII, robed in scarlet, entered 
the room. Everybody knelt. As he passes the door an 
attendant draws the scarlet robe away, and he stands before 
us in white and gold. He is a very old man, tall and thin, 
colorless in face, and with silvery hair; there is a soft, 
sad smile on his lips ; his clear, steady eyes look out of a 
kindly face. He motions us all to rise, and then slowly 
walks around the room, speaking a gracious word to each 
as presented. An official walks with him carrying a list of 
our names. The Pope's half-gloved hand with the signet 
ring, is held forward for us to kiss. His words are kind- 
ness itself. I never saw so saintly a face before. I do not 
wonder that many in the room are weeping. They are 
faithful Catholics and this moment is the event of their 
lives. Some have traveled ten thousand miles to have that 
white hand placed on their heads with a blessing. To them, 
the doors of paradise are this moment visibly opening. 

Everybody, Catholic or not, was affected. Shortly the 
kindly voice comes to us, "And you are from America — 
America — good, far off America," he says in English, and 
then changes to French, and Italian. He placed his hand 



EXPATRIATED AMERICANS 263 

on our heads and blessed us — and, believing or disbelieving 
—a feeling of a holy presence moved us. 

Shortly, a signal indicated that all should come to the 
center of the room and kneel, and then a blessing was asked 
on the lands from which we came. It was an impressive 
moment. Numbers kneel down and kiss the gold cross on 
his embroidered slipper. An attendant enters, throws the 
scarlet robe gently over his shoulders again. There are 
some kindly smiles, a bow, and the Pope leaves the room. 
Our reception at the Vatican was over. 

Last evening visited Mrs. Greenough, wife of the cele- 
brated sculptor. They have lived here many years. She 
is an interesting woman, but delicate as a lily. She talked 
much of Margaret Fuller, whom she had known well for 
many years. 

We find many self-expatriated Americans here, first-class 
snobs, mostly a rich and terribly stuck-up gentry, hanging 
around the edge of Italian society, watching opportunity to 
pick up an alliance with somebody with some sort of a title. 
They are usually ashamed of their own countrymen, even 
those of them who are here, and regard themselves entirely 
too good to be Americans. It is a great pity in their minds 
that they were born in the United States at all, where, 
likely as anyway, their fathers made their fortunes selling 
hides and hominy. 

March 21. — Spent last evening till very late, sitting on 
the steps of Frank Simmons' studio, talking with W. W. 
Story, sculptor and poet. He is the finest talker I ever 
heard. Of course, he knows everything about Italy; he 
has lived here most of his life, and his ''Roba di Roma" tells 
more worth knowing about Rome than any similar book 
ever written. We talked, too, of America. He lamented 
that he had never achieved distinction in the United States 
as a poet. That, not sculpture, had been his first ambition. 



264 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

I told him he did not know how many loved his name at 
home for the poetry he had written. On my last trip over 
the sea, a young and discriminating newspaper man had 
envied me that I was going where I would know Story, the 
poet. He had committed **Antony and Cleopatra" to mem- 
ory, repeated it to me walking on the ship deck one evening, 
and said it was the ''best American poem." The incident 
gratified Mr. Story very much, as it should. 

We spoke of the Washington monument at the capital. 
*Tt is nothing but a great, high smoke stack," he said. 
"There was a design offered, for a monument, that had 
some taste, art, grandeur about it, but the mullet-headed 
politicians, knowing nothing, and thinking they knew every- 
thing, naturally, threw that aside." 

There was but little outlook, he said, for any imme- 
diate realization of true art in America. "There was but 
one god there — money getting." 

I liked I\Ir. Story's generosity of speech concerning other 
sculptors less famous than himself, and for poets with less 
renown than he believed he had. He is altogether one of 
the most agreeable men I ever knew. His studio is full of 
fine work that brings great prices, but it does not seem to 
me greater than the work of Frank Simmons, or even some 
of the statues of Ives and Rogers. There is a sea nymph 
at Ives' studio more beautiful than anything else I ever saw 
in marble. 

We often go to the studio and the home of Randolph 
Rogers. He is an invalid, has been paralyzed, and sits most 
of his time in his chair ; but he has a great^ big, joyous heart, 
and is happy at seeing his friends. His fame is very wide. 
His "Blind Nydia" is one of the great things in marble. 
Very many copies of it have been made. They are every- 
where. "Nydia" and his bronze doors at the Capitol in 
Washington, more than all else, made his reputation. 

I have met no one in Rome who seemed to retain his real, 



ELIHU VEDDER 265 

joyous, bluff Americanism as Mr. Rogers does. He knows 
his art, but he has not forgotten his country. 

His home is one of the most deHghtful here. He is 
justly proud of his wife, as she is proud of his art. "She 
must have been very beautiful in her youth," said an Ameri- 
can innocently. "Yes," replied Mr. Rogers, "my wife is 
beautiful now." 

The other morning occurred the wedding of his daughter 
to a worthy and handsome officer of the Italian army. 
Every hour he is expecting orders to go to Africa to help 
avenge the massacre of a lot of his countrymen. 

Mr. Tilton, the American painter, showed us a Venetian 
scene yesterday of supreme loveliness, as most of hi's water 
scenes are. I never saw so much delicious coloring as is 
always in his pictures of the Adriatic. 

He sells mostly to the English, and at great prices. He 
showed me his selling book, and I was astounded at what 
he got. It was pounds, where others of our artist friends 
got dollars. 

Went to Elihu Vedder's studio. He received me very 
coolly at first, because he thought I mispronounced his 
name; a very important matter. Afterward, he took some 
pains to show me his work. It is certainly characteristic, at 
least, and original, and nobody ever misses guessing whose 
picture it is, if it should be from his brush. 

March 25. — Mr. Piei^pont, the Secretary of Legation, is 
down with the Roman fever. Strong and young and hand- 
some as he was, constant late hours and cold stone floors 
were too much for him. He may never recover. 

His coming here was almost a sensation, and no one ever 
got into "good society" in Rome so promptly. His hand- 
some face, genial ways, good family and fine talents have 
made him welcome everywhere. He is a son of Attorney 
General Edwards Pier^ont, of New York, once Minister 
to England. 

They have taken him to the German hospital up by the 



266 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Capitol. What makes his illness worse just now is that Mr. 
Astor, the Minister, has sent in his resignation and will go 
home at once. 

April, 1884. — Went to the Island of Capri, only a couple 
of hours' sail from the most beautiful bay in the world. 
This is the spot where the Garden of Eden ought to have 
been. 

Went to the Blue Grotto — wonderful ! While floating 
about there in a little boat, I thought of T. Buchanan Read's 
lines : 

Oh, happy ship to rise and dip 
With the blue crystal at your lip 

Just mere common existence ought to be a delight on 
Capri. The combination of romantic scene, delicious air, 
blue sky, and almost bluer sea, make it adorable. 

One should need little to live on here, and I think the 
peasants indeed have little aside from fruits and olive oil 
and wine. The young women are strikingly beautiful. 

Tiberius, when he built his palace up on top of this won- 
derful Isle of the Sea, at least knew where to find the beau- 
tiful. 

Ischia, even more beautiful, if possible, is close by, and we 
look over and think of the terrible fate of its people only a 
few months ago. 

In front of us is Naples, and, in sight, Vesuvius sullenly 
smokes away as if to remind us of the eternal peril to all 
who stay among these loveliest scenes of earth. 

We visited Pompeii, with its lifted mantle of ashes and 
cinder, that have helped mankind to patch out history. I 
was impressed by the extreme smallness of the Pompeiian 
houses. They look like little stone kitchens. Everything in 
the excavated city seems in miniature. One could think of 
a toy town built of stone, but supplied with everything won- 
derful of art and luxury. 

I fail to see anything wonderful in unearthing Pompeii. 



DEATH OF YOUNG PIERPONT 26? 

It was easy to dig it out of its ashes. There is no lava there. 
And it would seem a question if two dozen people ever test 
their lives in the disaster. It simply snowed ashes for a day 
or so, and why should people deliberately sit there and 
smother ! 

From the top of Capri we fancied we could almost see the 
temples of Paestum by the other bay, those temples without 
a history — those grandest ruins on the earth. 

They want no history — their's a voice 
Forever speaking to the heart of man. 

And we thought of the Paestum roses, too, of indescrib- 
able fragrance, that bloom twice a year, and that have flour- 
ished there on the sickly desert a thousand years. No story 
like this in all the floral world. 

One time lately my wife admired very much a little water 
color of Mr. Tilton's. This morning he carried it up to her 
as a present from the artist. It will long be treasured as a 
remembrance of one of the most genial men in Rome, and 
of a delightful artist. 

April ip. — Young Mr. Pierpont died two days ago, and 
that before his father and mother could reach him. They 
are still at sea. Yesterday afternoon he was buried from 
St. Paul's church in the Via Nazionale. The sorrow for 
his premature death was very sincere. Dr. Nevin read the 
service, assisted by the Master of Rugby School, and the 
pall bearers were the ambassadors of Austria, Germany and 
Belgium, with myself representing the United States. King 
Humbert was represented by the Duke of Fiano. The 
Italian Foreign Minister was also a pall bearer. There were 
many beautiful flowers by the casket. It was a sad burial, 
this putting into the grave a youth to whom the future had 
beckoned with such golden hand. 



268 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Mr. Pierpont's death, and the resignation of Mr. Astor, 
put the affairs of the Legation into my care. The archives 
have been moved to the Consulate General, on Via Venti 
Settembre. 

************ 

April 25. — Governor and Mrs. Pierpont came yesterday, 
and I took them out to the Protestant Cemetery to look at 
the casket containing their son. It stood in a receiving vault 
covered with roses. It was a sad day ! 

This afternoon Governor Pierpont talked with me about 
supernatural things. He doubted them himself, and yet, 
he said that when he was Minister to London he rarely was 
at a dinner in England when some one at the table did not 
relate of something supernatural that had occurred to him- 
self or else to some trustworthy friend. This fact must 
put people to thinking. Possibly there was something in it 
after all. Get it out of the hands of charlatans, and possibly 
we could lift the veil a little more than we imagine. If 
there is another world, spiritual, it need not be very far 
away. 

************ 

April 20. — The parties and the receptions and the balls 
go on this winter, just as if all Rome had nothing to do 
but have a good time. 

The Journalists' ball the other night was most striking 
for its elegance, its diamonds, gowns, and its beautiful be- 
jeweled women. 

The German artists' masquerade ball was also beautiful. 
We went to both the same night. 

The Roman theater is good, and spectacular opera is given 
this winter with great effect. ''Excelsior" is the most gor- 
geously gotten up spectacle of dance and scenery I ever be- 
held. Its ballet possibly has never been approached. 

A funny story is told here of Joaquin Miller. One after- 
noon he attended a reception at Miss B.'s. Two old maids, 
Italians, asked to be seated next the lion of the Sierras. 



SHAKESPEARE WOOD 269 

They listened in' utter astonishment, but with perfect 
guUibiUty, while he wickedly regaled them with immense 
stories of how he had galloped over the plains of his native 
country on the backs of wild buffaloes, how he had fought 
prairie fires, slain Indians and rescued maidens from cap- 
tivity. The women were amazed, and with grateful hearts 
thanked their hostess for introducing them to so great a 
hero. The party over, all are gone, and Miss B. looks about 
the house. To her astonishment, the wild-eyed poet is there 
yet, standing alone by the dining-room table. She gently 
draws the portiere aside to look. He holds a glass of wine 
in his hand, and, as he balances it, and looks upon its color, 
he smiles and exclaims to himself, but in tones heard behind 
the curtain, ''Holy Moses, how I did lie to those women." 

April 22, — Went to a party at Shakespeare Wood's the 
other night. He is correspondent of the London Times, 
and is an important man among foreigners in Rome. They 
say his salary is as good as a Minister's. I fear that is a 
mistake. Saw many noted people at his house — Lord 
Houghton, the poet and critic, the Trollopes and others. 

Heard much talk against Gladstone. One English gentle- 
man said, with apparent approval of a little group of Eng- 
lish listeners, ''The man ought to be shot for the good of 
England." It seemed inexplicable, impossible — so much 
hatred of the world's best Christian statesman. 

Lord Houghton is a good, gray, old man, full of vivacity 
and with opinions of his own. He has renown in Italy, for 
he has been a great friend in the country's struggle for 
liberty, and his life of literature has had great reward. 

Shakespeare Wood knows more about Rome and Italy 
than half the Italians themselves, and is besides an artist and 
an antiquarian. 

Last evening I was invited to dine at the home of the 
celebrated Professor Moleschott. He is a distinguished 
author and a Roman Senator, though a born German. My 



270 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

invitation came as a result of a letter to him from my friend 
Johannes Scherr, the German author. Moleschott had once 
lived in Zurich. 

This was an ''evening" for certain delegates to a World's 
Congress of scientific and medical men. Dr. Sternberg, of 
Washington, was there. Few of the guests understood 
Italian. Moleschott seemed able to speak with each in his 
own tongue. Scherr's letter caused him to pay me no little 
attention, and he chatted with me considerably. He is the 
most remarkable looking man I ever saw. Has a head like 
a lion. He is short, stout, broad faced, and has big eyes, 
and low side whiskers. I asked him how on earth he could 
learn so many languages in addition to his enormous duties 
as a scientific writer, a constant lecturer, and an Italian Sen- 
ator. "I don't learn them," he said; 'T must absorb them. 
I have no time to learn them." "But you must have studied 
English/' I replied. ''You are too much of a master there, 
to be merely an absorber." "Well, yes, a little bit," he an- 
swered. "That is, I laid your English grammar on my dress- 
ing case mornings for a few weeks, and while I walked up 
and down the room putting on my clothes I got hold of your 
language." 

He was one of the rare men we meet who seem to know 
everything. Observation great, memory powerful. What 
would the world be, if all men had Moleschott's intellect. 
Like Goethe, he has universal knowledge. 

He passes our door daily in an open cab, and is always 
sitting with an open volume in his lap, and yet he sees and 
greets people and goes on with his reading. 

May 1, 1885. — I have this entry in my diary : "This day I 
resigned my post as Consul General of Italy and will soon 
leave the service, after many years of constant and faithful 
duty. These last weeks I have also had charge of the diplo- 
matic affairs of our country here, and it is gratifying to 
receive, by the same mail that brings a letter asking my 



RETURN TO AMERICA 271 

resignation, another letter expressing appreciation of some 
of my recent services." 

On my arrival home in America, I found the following let- 
ter waiting me from General Sherman : 

''St. Louis, Mo., June 29, 1885. 

"Dear Byers : — I have your letter written at sea, in which 
you give me the first information I had received that you 
had been displaced at Rome. I knew, of course, it was 
bound to come, for party allegiance with us is stronger than 
patriotism, and the pendulum of time was bound to swing 
against us, and we will be lucky if we are not indicted for 
horse stealing and for the murder of men who resorted to 
arms to destroy the very Government of which now they 
are the main supporters. Of course, in due time the pen- 
dulum will swing back, but meantime, we must lie low, else 
history will record Jeff Davis the patriot, and Mr. Lincoln 
the usurper. 

*T am glad to know that you propose to settle at Des 
Moines. It is a beautiful and seemingly prosperous place, 
and if you can engage in any business there, you will soon 
have reason to feel a sense of security in not being the slave 
of the State Department. 

"We are all here now, but in a short time Mrs. Sherman 
and all the family will go to Lake Minnetonka for the sum- 
mer. I have some business which will detain me here a 
while, when I will follow, but I have a positive engagement 
at Mansfield, Ohio, August 15 ; New York, August 20, and 
Chicago, September 9 and 10. So you see I am kept busy. 
I have long experience and declare that it is harder for me 
to maintain a modern family with fifty dependents and a 
thousand old soldiers claiming of right all I possess, than 
to command a hundred thousand men in battle. Still I 
expect to worry along a few years, till summoned to a 
final rest. I now merely write to welcome you back to your 
native land, and to express the hope that Mrs. Byers will 



272 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

soon regain her wonted health, and that you, too, will settle 
down with as much contentment as you can command, after 
your long sojourn abroad. Hoping you will notify me of 
your arrival at Oskaloosa and Des Moines, I venture to 
send you this to New Wilmington, Pa. 

''Sincerely your friend, W. T. Sherman." 

Another letter of interest came from him : 

''St. Louis, Mo., Sept. 30, 1885. 
"Dear Byers: — Now I shall know where to find you. 
You are fully competent to manage your own interests, 
and I shall not commit the foolish mistake of proffering 
advice where it is not asked. I remember when money was 
worth 3 per cent a month (in California). It broke both 
lender and borrower, for the borrower simply gave up the 
houses and land mortgaged, and the lenders themselves be- 
came borrowers for the taxes. To-day money in the United 
States is worth 3 per cent per annum, and all over that rate 
is 'risk,' not interest. If I had money to lend, which I have 
not, I would not lend it on an Iowa farm at 8 per cent, but 
on a Government bond at 3 per cent, because I would con- 
clude sooner or later I would have to take the Iowa farm, 
which would be an elephant. A farm is a good thing for a 
farmer, but a bad thing for an owner. Still I have good 
faith in the ultimate value of good farm land, because it 
yields annual crops, whereas mines and manufactories play 
out. My heavy expenses still go on. In St. Louis, we pay 
as taxes, full rent, and have to pay the objects of taxation 
direct. Thus our taxes are $2.50 on a full valuation, and we 
must in addition pay for watering the streets, for street- 
paving and improvements, for special police, for the militia 
and for schools. I can manage to make ends meet, but I 
wonder how a man can, in business, make profit enough to 
cover his family expenses. These economic questions will 
become the questions of the future. 



it i; 




OWE NO MAN ANYTHING 273 

"Mrs. Sherman is absent at the East, to visit Elly and 
Minnie. The rest of us are here. Love to all. 

"Your friend, W. T. Sherman.^' 

In October he writes again : 

"St. Louis, Mo., Oct 23, 1885. 

"Dear Byers: — I feel easier on your account, since you 
tell me that you find the business in which you were about to 
embark, overdone. Nearly all the calamities which have 
overtaken families in America, can be traced to the credit 
system, which necessarily prevails. I liad enough experi- 
ence in it to put me on my guard, and I am firm in my faith 
in Shakespeare's 'Neither a borrower nor a lender be.' And 
the consequence is that to-day I owe no man a cent, and 
have no incidental obligations as indorser or bondsman. All 
my children know this, and while I give them liberally of 
what I have, they never dream of asking me to borrow or 
indorse. 

"There is a great deal of wisdom in Dickens' character of 
Micawber. 'Income, £100; expenses, £99.19.6 — result, hap- 
piness. Income, £100; expenses, £101.4.3 — result, misery.* 
I quote from memory. 

"If you and Mrs. Byers will be content with what you 
have, and live within your income, whether $1,800 or $6,000, 
your days will be long in the land of the living. Now, 
surely, even in Des Moines, you can supplement your income 
by the sale of occasional articles from your pen, which will 
add to your frugal fund most of the luxuries of life. 

"In any and every event, I beg you will keep me advised 
of your progress, so long as I travel in this world of woe 
and mystery. 

"Mrs. Sherman is now back from her visit to our married 
children at the East and I think we shall remain unchanged 
all winter. I have numerous calls, but generally answer 
that I am entitled to rest and mean to claim it. 

"My best compliments to your good wife and son. 

"Your friend, W. T. Sherman.'' 

18 



CHAPTER XXVIII 
1886 

THE NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW ENGAGES ME TO EDIT SEVERAL 
CHAPTERS OF THE SHERMAN CORRESPONDENCE — SHERMAN 
WRITES AS TO MAGAZINES AND HIS BOOK — THE GENERAL 
INVITES ME TO COME AND STAY AT HIS HOME IN ST. LOUIS 

HE OFFERS ME THE USE OF ALL HIS PAPERS — I PUBLISH 

ALSO IN THE REVIEW A PROSE NARRATIVE OF THE MARCH 

TO THE SEA MRS. SHERMAN READS IT TO THE GENERAL — 

BUFFALO BILL GENERAL GIVES ME HIS ARMY BADGE 

NIGHTS IN Sherman's office — conversations with 

HIM — LIFE in the SHERMAN HOME — THE GENERAL's COM- 
PLETE RECONCILIATION WITH HIS SON ""tOM"" INTEREST- 
ING LETTERS FROM SHERMAN AS TO MAGAZINES — HIS 

FORTHCOMING BOOK FARMS AND TAXES — WAR HISTORIES 

grant's book — NEWSPAPERS — CHRISTMAS LETTER. 

The interval between my resignation at Rome and my 
reappointment as Consul General for Switzerland was spent 
in my home in Iowa. 

Early in 1886, the North American Review asked me to 
prepare and edit a series of General Sherman's letters for the 
magazine. 

I received an interesting letter from the General about 
the tempting ofifers made to him by the magazines. They 
make offers of that kind to one man in a million, and only 
one man in a million could decline them. He mentions his 
forthcoming book. 

"Washington, D. C, Feb. 3, 1886. 

"Dear Byers : — I was glad to receive your letter of the ist 
inst. It indicates a purpose to join in the throng now pub- 
lishing articles about the war. Last year Rice, of the N. A. 

(274) 



VISIT TO SHERMAN 275 

Review, offered me $i,ooo for an article on Grant, which I 
dechned and he obtained that of March for nothing. I 

hate controversy, but could not escape this with F , who 

is an army officer, retired, and usually very accurate, but 
his denial to furnish me the source of his extract from one 
of my private letters led up to my reply in the March num- 
ber. If you have read from the magazine itself, all right, 
but if you have only seen the newspaper extracts, I would 
like to have you get the Review itself and read the whole. 
The Century Magazine is also a very respectable vehicle 
for war stories and has tempted me with high offers in 
money, but I have resolved to keep out of the newspapers 
and magazines as far as they will let me, confining myself to 
the memoirs revised, which will be issued by the Appletons 
by May next. I have gone over all the proof and will now 
stand by it. The first and last chapters are new — as well 
as the index, maps and illustrations. 

**We are all very well here and I shall regret to give up 
my own home here for a hotel in New York, but I shall 
never consent to housekeeping in New York. 

"My best love to Mrs. Byers and the children. 

"Truly your friend, W. T. Sherman.'^ 

At the General's invitation I went to St. Louis, and for a 
time was a guest in his home as I had been before in Wash- 
ington. 

A few notes of the great commander's life at this time 
may not be amiss here. 

General Sherman was now a retired officer. After a great 
life on the military stage, he had himself rung down the 
curtain. He was living in a comfortable, brown, two-story 
brick house, at 912 Garrison Avenue. 

His simple little office, where he spent most of his time, 
was down in the basement, just as it had been in Washing- 
ton. The same little sign bearing the simple words : 

''OMce of General Sherman" 



276 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

was on one of the basement windows. In this room, on 
shelves and in cases, were all the records of his life — his 
memoranda of the war, military maps, correspondence. 
There were letters on file in that little room from eminent 
men all over the country. A magazine editor once offered 
$40,000 for permission to go down into that basement and 
pick out the letters he would like to print in his magazine. 
The editor even offered a thousand dollars for one certain, 
single letter there. It was never printed till its importance 
was gone. 

One evening he c^me down into the basement where I 
was sitting, and taking his keys out of his pocket threw them 
on the table beside me, saying: ''There, I trust you with 
everything; unlock everything; use what you want." The 
complete confidence thus placed in me, I recall with pride 
and affection. I recall, too, the responsibility I felt. 

Night after night, day after day, I read among the letters, 
picking out only those that seemed of interest to the public, 
and to be perfectly proper to print. 

At that time I edited for the North American Review six 
chapters of them. Nothing went without General Sherman's 
approval. He allowed his clerk, Mr. Barrett, to copy for me. 
Hundreds of the most entertaining letters I regarded it in- 
discreet to print at tKat time, and they have never been 
printed yet. 

The General and myself sat there in the basement by the 
little open fire many a time till twelve or one o'clock at night ; 
I looking through the almost thousands of letters and 
papers, he smoking a cigar and reading. The poems of 
Burns lay there on his desk all the time, because Burns was 
his favorite poet. Dickens and Scott, he read time and 
again ; some of the stories once a year, he said. 

When I would find something of especial interest among 
the letters, I would speak of it. He would stop reading 
and, for an hour, tell me all about it, and add interesting 
things concerning the writer. What would I not now give 



THE MARCH TO THE SEA 277 

could my memory recall faithfully his talks to me in the 
silence of those nights. He suffered some with asthma, and 
it was always easier for him to sit up far into the night and 
talk, than to go to bed. Sometimes a wee drop from a black 
bottle in the back room refreshed us both, without harming 
either. 

About this time, a few over-zealous friends of Grant, not 
satisfied with the world's recognition of his genius, were 
claiming for him the impossible merit of everything that 
happened in the war, even the origin of the March to the 
Sea. The claim w^as ridiculous, and I do not believe that 
General Grant personally had anything to do with it. But 
I am sure that Sherman felt that Grant ought to have spoken 
at this juncture. 

One evening I came across an autograph letter from Grant 
to Sherman, congratulating him on the achievement of the 
March to the Sea, '*a campaign," in Grant's words, "the 
like of which has not been read of in past history." There 
was not a thought of claiming any of the glory for himself. 
Right beside it lay a letter from Robert E. Lee, telling how 
this movement of Sherman's resulted eventually in the fall 
of Richmond. Reading these, determined me, while with 
General Sherman in his home, to write, myself, an account 
of the March to the Sea, for the North American Review. 
My article was printed in the Review, September, 1887. 

When it was finished I asked the General to listen to it. 
He sent upstairs one morning for Mrs. Sherman to come 
down and hear it also. **Let me read it aloud," said Mrs. 
Sherman. It was one of the delightful hours of my life, to 
sit there and hear the wife of the great soldier read to him 
my story of his March to the Sea. I watched his face while 
she read, and could see that his mind was again afire with 
the thought of the campaign. He made no important 
changes, and a note to the editor of the Review showed that 
he approved my paper fully. 

Life went on in the General's family very much as at 



278 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

Washington. It was a happy, hospitable home. "Tom," 
the father now being reconciled to the idea of his being a 
priest, came up often from the college down town, and many 
were the interesting conversations I heard between the 
great soldier and his intellectual son. It seemecT to me the 
same fire of intellect was in each, only it was all different in 
flame and purpose. Mrs. Sherman had a little office of 
her own upstairs, just as at her Washington home, where 
she devoted her energy to planning for the poor. She was 
a noble, unselfish woman, and her charities, unheralded to 
the world, did much to soften the hard lines of the unfortu- 
nate. 

The General's health was not the very best. He was often 
taking such severe colds as even threatened his life. The 
doctors were uneasy, and Mrs. Sherman was on one or two 
occasions much alarmed. ''Should such a misfortune oc- 
cur," she said to me one morning after the breakfast, ''should 
I survive him, I want you to undertake the publication of 
all my husband's papers and correspondence. He has told 
me of his affection for you many times, and you know my 
own." I was greatly touched by this new proof of con- 
fidence in me, but I could not but think that General Sher- 
man had many years to live. 

The General, simple in public life, was still simpler in 
his home. He came to breakfast mornings in his comfort- 
able old slippers and wearing a shiny little morning coat 
that was more comfortable than decorative. After lunch 
at noon, he usually took an hour's nap and then went down 
in the basement to his work of answering letters. He an- 
swered everybody, and gave himself as much labor in this 
imposed letter writing as if he were well paid for it. 
Hundreds and hundreds of people asked him to help them 
get office, and hundreds asked him for money. He gave a 
great deal, and the giving helped to keep him a compara- 
tively poor man. Mrs. She'rman told me how he kept ac- 
counts at certain Washington stores, and sent needy men 



SHERMAN AT HOME 279 

there almost daily with orders for hats, coats, etc. His 
daughter Lizzie was one of the kindest and sweetest spirits 
I ever knew. She was almost a constant companion of 
her father in his many travels. 

We had pleasant chats every morning at the breakfast 
table, though it was nearly impossible to get the General 
away from the basement and his newspaper, till Mrs. S. 
had the papers put on the table with the coffee. Then the 
General would read and comment. He regarded the press 
almost as a necessary evil. Few of his comments were com- 
plimentary to it. He had a horror of reporters. 

A great railroad strike was going on. Some sensational 
newspapers in St. Louis were helping to keep it up by en- 
couraging the strikers. A month before, the same journals 
had been obsequious to the railroads. ''Some day," said the 
General one morning, throwing down the newspaper, "these 
pusillanimous scoundrels of editors will be for calling on 
me and on the country to save them from the very ruin 
they are now encouraging. They are pulling the house 
down on their own heads. If it could fall on them, only! 
But little newspapers care for the sorrow they carry to 
human breasts, if they can only start a sensation." 

He hated professional politicians even as much as such 
editors, but he discriminated between a man going to Con- 
gress for bread and butter, and a man who tried to labor for 
his country. Even Blaine, whom he so cordially honored, 
he thought a spoilsman at times, not always a statesman. 

In the home here, Mrs. Sherman called him "Gump," and 
that was the title he liked to hear. The name conveyed 
something dearer and better to him than titles and rank. 
He had no love for any of these empty sounding baubles, 
anyway, and never sought a promotion in his life. 

One evening he was to address the Ransom Grand Army 
Post at St. Louis, and in the name of some patriotic man 
present a flag. He asked me to go along. After supper 
I came down and found him dressed and waiting for me in 



280 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

the drawing-room. "Where is your Grand Army badge?" 
he asked, observing I had none. I explained that mine was 
at home in Iowa. *'You must have one," he said, *T'll give 
you this," and taking the emblem from his breast he fastened 
it on my coat. I treasure it still. It is an heirloom for 
my son. 

He took me to see Buffalo Bill, the Indian fighter, one 
day. It was at the Fair Ground. The scout came to the 
General's box with all the fair manner of a high-born 
gentleman, saluted, bowed, advanced, took the extended 
hand and met a genuine soldier's greeting. Sherman had 
known him on the plains, and respected him as a man of 
worth. ''That man's a genius," he said, when Cody went 
down to the ring, *'and he believes in himself. That's half 
the battle of life." Sherman, like Buffalo Bill, believed in 
himself. He knew what he could do, and did it, and asked 
neither praise nor pay. 

That evening, one of Sherman's daughters and a girl 
friend visiting in the family, danced with Buffalo Bill at a 
great ball. ''He was the best dancer of them all," said one 
of the girls on coming home. "Just too lovely for anything," 
added the other. And this was the man of the prairies, the 
hunter, the scout. Environment doesn't count for anything, 
after all. 

One day while at the Shermans, a friend, Mr. Haydock, 
asked me to go with him to see Grant's log house. It is 
on the old Dent farm in the woods, seven miles southwest 
of the city. This now neglected land Vv-as given to Mrs. 
Grant by her father, at her marriage. When Grant was 
thirty-two, he saw no prospects ahead of him in the army; 
so he resigned and went out here in the woods to live. *T 
had no means to stock the farm," he wrote later, "and a 
house had to be built. I worked very hard, never losing 
a day because of bad weather. If nothing else could be 
done, I would put a load of wood on the wagon and take 
it to the city for sale." For four years. Grant and his fam- 



KISSING SHERMAN 281 

ily lived this obscure life here in a little log cabin he built 
with his own hands. 

The cabin is now hard to find. The road is deserted, 
the yard is overgrown with tall grass, straggling rose bushes 
bloom in what was once a garden ; the windows of the cabin 
are gone, the doors stand open. 

Grant cut the trees, prepared and hauled the logs for 
the cabin himself, and a hired hand helped him to put them 
up. It is a typical Southern log house, one and a half stories 
high, two rooms below, separated by an open hall, two rooms 
above. There is no history of Grant's life, during the 
years he struggled to make a living on this lonesome back- 
woods farm. Grant seldom alluded to it himself. 

While walking over the deserted cabin and yard, I saw 
in my mind its whilom owner, the guest of peoples and 
potentates. 

Sherman had an extravagant opinion of General Grant's 
abilities. ''Grant was the one level-headed man among us 
all," he said to me one night, down in the basement of 
his home. Sherman went to the opera because he was fond 
of music, though he could not sing a note. If he kissed the 
pretty women behind the scenes sometimes, or more likely 
in front of the scenes, it was because the pretty women 
kissed him. I never saw a man so run after by woman- 
kind in my life. It was a great honor to have him touch 
their hands, their lips. Once in Switzerland, when he was 
leaving Bern on a train, the whole crowd of American 
women at the depot, old and young, pretty and ugly, chil- 
dren and all, kissed him. 

When I was leaving his home at St. Louis, Miss Lizzie 
said I should have something to remember my visit by. 
*'Then I want something from the little basement," I said, 
"there is where I have spent most of my time." 'Tapa, 
why not give him your paper weight." It was a little bronze 
bust of General Grant that he had used on his desk for 
many years. It has been mine since that evening, though I 



282 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

needed nothing to remind me forever of the hours spent 
far into the night down in the basement of the Sherman 
home. 

In April, I received an interesting letter from him on 
taxation : 

"St. Louis, Mo., April 25, 1886. 

"Dear Byers :— I have your letter of the i8th, and though 
I have nothing to tell you, will answer. I understand that 
your article on the March to the Sea will be in the North 
American Review for May, and I will look for it. It might 
have been better had you applied to the Century Magazine, 
which seems to invite contributions illustrative of the war, 
though it seems partial to our adversaries. The absence 
of Mr. Rice in Europe, too, may be one cause of a relaxed 
interest in such articles as you could supply. J. R. is 
rather the workman than the editor, and is governed chiefly 
by the notoriety of the contribution rather than by the merit 
of the article. 

"Hold on to your farm. This removal to the cheaper 
land of Dakota will not last long, as that is devoid of wood, 
and cold in the extreme. As soon as the few inviting places 
west are filled up, the tide will set back to Iowa. But I 
really do fear now an internal cause of the diminished value 
of land. Instead of supporting one government as in Eu- 
rope, we have to support five — National, State, County, 
Township and Municipal — each of which expects for its sup- 
port enough taxes for the whole. We are merely the nom- 
inal owners. The aggregate taxes here and with you, I 
infer, are equal to rent, and the question is: Who owns 
the farm? I infer the State does, and the nominal owner 
is merely the tenant at will. This fact, with the labor or- 
ganizations, may bring about conflicts such as desolated 
Asia, hundreds, if not thousands of years ago. 

"I will be in Chicago Decoration Day, Indianapolis June 
2d, San Francisco Aug. 3-6, in Washington Territory and 
British Columbia till September, when I must come to Rock 



WAR BOOKS 283 

Island for the annual meeting of the Army of the Tennessee, 
Sept. 15-16, then for New York. 

"Mrs. Sherman will go East about July ist, and we will 
all meet in New York about Sept. 20th. I shall expect to 
see you at Rock Island. 

"With best compliments to Mrs. Byers, and best wishes 
for your health and success. 

"Truly your friend, W. T. Sherman."" 

Later, he wrote me his views on newspapers and war 
books : 

"St. Louis, Mo., June 11, 1886. 

"Dear Byers: — I have your letter of the 8th, and note 
that you are now in correspondence with two of the best 
monthlies of the country. I feel assured that you will 
get along, though the speculation of buying young cattle 
and feeding them on your own land is a better business. 
The newspapers of our country have been as the morning 
mist, absolutely lost or dissipated by the noonday sun. The 
monthlies may hang on a little longer. And only printed 
volumes with indexes, collected in libraries, will be ac- 
cepted as approximate truth. 

"Grant's book will of course survive all time. Mine, 
Sheridan's and a few others will be auxiliary, but the great 
mass of books purporting to give the history of especial 
corps, regiments and even individuals, will be swept aside, 
because the world now demands condensation, and probably 
in fifty years, one hundred pages will be all that the world 
will allow for the history of the Civil War. Meantime, 
you can interest and entertain your readers, for which the 
journals can pay you what you need, money. 

"But I would not advise you to attempt any material 
change of the public judgment, as recorded by Grant. I 
prefer, when you use any letter of mine, or any of Grant's 
to me, that you insist on their being used with your text, 
not theirs. If you consent to their expurgating any special 



284 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

letter, the editor will use it with his own introduction, to 
justify himself in some conclusion heretofore published. 
I have experienced this and could not find fault, as it was 
explained by the usual motives for human action. I would 
insist on the publication of your articles as you made them, 
with literal or immaterial corrections, when convinced of 
their necessity. 

"We are now pretty well packed up, and no doubt we 
will be ready for breaking up here July ist, after which 
my address will be Palace Hotel, San Francisco. Present 
us all kindly to Mrs. Byers and the boy, and believe me that 
I shall always feel a personal interest in your welfare. 

' "Your friend, W. T. Sherman/* 

On Christmas, he sent me this kindly note: 

"New York, Dec. 24, 1886. 

"Dear Byers : — I was very glad to receive your kind let- 
ter of the 20th, and assure you of my continued interest 
and affection, wishing you and yours all earthly happi- 
ness. 

"The task on which you have entered, 'Iowa in War 
Times,' will afford you full employment for a year and 
more, and I trust with reasonable profit. Remember that 
'brevity is the soul of wit,' and condensation is now the 
true aim of history. Each regiment will expect you to in- 
clude a diary of its life, but I know you have industry and 
patience enough to generalize. 

"I shall look out for your article in the North American. 
I was tempted only yesterday by the Century Magazine 
to furnish an article on that very subject, which I declined 
in a letter at some length, claiming that my Memoirs were 
as full as I can reproduce, and preferring that others like 
yourself should present the facts in a more agreeable form. 
To ward off other applicants I have consented to the publi- 
cation of that letter. 

"Truly your friend, W. T. Sherman.'' 



TROUBLE WITH NEWSPAPERS 285 

The General had now given up his beautiful home in St. 
Louis, and was about to move to New York. It turned 
out to be, as he hoped it would, his last change of residence. 
Again he wrote me. It was his last letter to me from St. 
Louis, and again he touched on the troubles he had had 
with American newspapers. In fact his experiences with 
newspaper correspondents during the war had been such as 
to make him hate the entire fraternity. There were times 
when he had unceremoniously driven them away from his 
army, as mischief makers arfd traitors. , 

"St. Louis, Mo., June 29, 1886. 

"Dear Byers : — I have your letter of the 226., with copy 
of yours to R. * * * 

"I am willing to risk B.'s preface to any of your articles. 
He has been always most friendly to me, and I should 
always fear his over praise, rather than his adverse criti- 
cisms. Nevertheless, you are right in claiming that your 
'articles' should be published as written by you. The editor 
has the privilege of calling attention to the subject-matter 
of his special 'articles,' but the article itself should not be 
'coupled' with matter written by any outsider before publi- 
cation and after preparation. 

"The chief trouble of my life has been in dealing with 
newspapers and periodicals. They want something 'sensa- 
tional,' which will sell as an article of commerce, and their 
self-interest blinds them to the personal consequences of 
the publications. To sell 50, 500 or 5,000 of this paper 
or magazine, is their business. If they make sad a hundred 
or a million of hearts, it is to them of no consequence. Lizzie 
and I will be off for California July ist. Mrs. Sherman 
and Cump for Marietta, Lancaster Co., Pa., July 2d. You 
may not hear of or from me till I reach Rock Island, 
Sept. 15-16. On my arrival at San Francisco, I can buy 
the. North American Review, so you need not send me a 
copy. We are all now at the Lindell Hotel, and will scatter 



286 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

as I have indicated, in two more days. An excellent fam- 
ily has taken our home for three years, with the privilege 
of three more — in fact beyond our lives, at $1,500 a year, 
enough to pay taxes and repairs. I think we have made 
a fatal mistake, but if our youngest son can thereby be 
made a real lawyer and man, I will be content. My career 
is ended. 

"Wishing you and yours all the happiness possible, 
"I am sincerely your friend, W. T. Sherman/' 



CHAPTER XXIX 
1887-90 

AN INTERESTING LETTER FROM GENERAL GRANT — SHERMAN 
LIVING IN NEW YORK — HIS IMMENSE POPULARITY WITH 
ALL AMERICANS — LETTERS FROM HIM — EXHIBITED LIKE A 
CIRCUS — NO UNION MAN LEFT IN FOREIGN SERVICE BY 

CLEVELAND HE WRITES FOR THE MAGAZINES — MAGAZINES 

AGAIN — APPROVES MY ARTICLE IN THE NORTH AMERICAN 
REVIEW ON THE MARCH TO THE SEA — HUMBLEST UNION 
MAN BETTER PATRIOT THAN THE PROUDEST SOUTH CARO- 
LINA REBEL — SHERIDAN DYING CONGRESS SHOULD MAKE 

RANK OF LIEUTENANT GENERAL PERMANENT — HIS RECEP- 
TION AT COLUMBUS — DEATH OF MRS. SHERMAN — ABOUT 
HIS MEMOIRS — NO PROFIT — THE ARMY OF THE TENNESSEE 
AT CINCINNATI — MY POEM THERE — ^AN ODD INTERVIEW AT 
THE WHITE HOUSE — CONVERSATIONS WITH SECRETARY 
BLAINE — DEATH OF THE GREAT GENERAL — SPEECHES ABOUT 
HIM IN THE SENATE — I AM AGAIN APPOINTED TO SWITZ- 
ERLAND. 

I was now in the West working on my "Iowa in War 
Times" and sometimes writing an article for the maga- 
zines. 

Many documents and important autograph letters were 
put in my hands from all over the country. One of the 
most interesting of these was from General Grant. It has 
never been printed and I give it here because it 
was possibly the only letter he ever wrote during a bat- 
tle. It was at Black River bridge, Grant was sitting on 
his horse, Lawler's brigade had just made a successful 
charge on the intrenchments. An officer from the Head- 

(287) 



288 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

quarters at Washington rides up to the General with an 
important order. It is for him to abandon his Vicksburg 
campaign, and join Banks with his army. "Do you see 
that charge?" said the General. "You are too late." He 
wrote this letter sitting there on his saddle, and the Vicks- 
burg battles and successes followed. Had Grant gone to 
Banks, the latter would have been chief in command. Grant's 
great career would not have had even a beginning. This 
very minute was the great crisis in General Grant's life! 

May 17th, 10:30 A. M. 
Dear Gen. : 

Lawler's brigade stormed the enemy's works a few min- 
utes since, carried it, capturing from 2,000 to 3,000 prison- 
ers, 10 guns so far as heard from, and probably more will 
be found. The enemy have fired both bridges. 

A. J. Smith captured 10 guns this morning, with teams, 
men and ammunition. 

I send you a note from Col. Wright. 

Yours, U. S. Grant, 

Maj. Gen. 
Maj. Gen. Sherman, 

Com'd'g 17th Army Corps. 

I still received an occasional letter from General Sher- 
man. As these were often strong, characteristic and inter- 
esting, I copy a number. 

He was now living in the Fifth Avenue Hotel, New 
York, so far as it could be said that he w^as living any- 
where, for his presence was in such demand at public occa- 
sions, all over the country, as to make any lengthy stay at 
home an impossibility. He was beyond all doubt the most 
loved man at this time in the United States. No American 
knew so many people by face, and by name. No face was so 
familiar to almost everybody as was the face of "Uncle 
Billy Sherman." The soldiers of the Civil War, of whom 
a million were still alive, absolutely adored their leader. 



SHERMAN'S GREATNESS 280 

There was no place so high, no post so honored, that his 
people would not have pressed it upon him, had he been 
willing to accept it. To no other living American was the 
Presidency ever offered without the seeking. No other 
American was ever great enough to turn aside from the 
proffered gift» 

With all this great place in the hearts of a whole people, 
he went about his daily life with a simplicity that aston- 
ished all ; a simplicity of which only true greatness is capa- 
ble. In the great army processions at the reunions, where 
he might have led the van, borne on the shoulders of his 
victorious veterans, he marched afoot in the dust, along 
with the boys he had led from Atlanta to the sea. 

Political glory had no charm for him, and the huzzahs 
of the multitude he measured for what they were worth. 
It was my good fortune to know him in his real heart, 
his inside life, and a man less moved by hopes of applause 
it seemed to me could not be imagined. He constantly 
saw before him the vanity of human greatness. To him, 
a modest life of simple things, well done, was as great 
as a life glowing with renown. The glory that comes from 
achievement counted as little. The good that follows doing 
right for right's sake, to him was everything. Everything 
he ever did, or said, or wrote, confirmed this. 

He was an American, too, all over, and a loyal one. 
When an English General attempted to belittle the North, 
and to foist Lee onto the top of the victor's column, Sher- 
man answered him. 

The following letters refer to this and to his article on 
"The Grand Strategy of the War :" 

"New Yori^ May i, 1887. 

"Dear Byers : — I received your letter of April 24th some 

days ago, and kept it for Sunday's answering. Of course 

I could not go to Dubuque on the occasion of the meeting 

of the G. A. R. and of the remnant of the 13th Infantry. 

19 



290 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

To them, it may seem a neglect, but were I to accept one 
invitation in the hundred, I would have to abandon family, 
friends and all peace, to become a vagrant. I am now 
advertised like Barnum's circus, at Cincinnati, May 4; at 
Philadelphia same day, and at Washington May 11-12, for 
the dedication of the Garfield statue, all a la Pickwick, at 
my own expense. As soon as I had become domiciled in 
New York, I was assailed by all the magazines and news- 
papers to become a regular contributor, at a compensation 
represented by the algebraic expression x/2, but of course 
I declined with thanks. Yet when General Lord Wolseley's 
article in Macmillan's March number was published, claim- 
ing for Lee the maximum honors, to tower high above every 
man of this country, I could not resist the temptation to 
reply, and this is in the May number of the North Ameri- 
can. I suppose you are a subscriber, or can obtain a copy. 
I would like to have your judgment. Also the Century 
Magazine wanted an article on 'The Grand Strategy of the 
War,' which I prepared with some care, and they may 
publish in the June number, or may withhold as a kind of 
preface to their intended publication of all the military pub- 
lications of the past four years. In the multitude of coun- 
sels there may be wisdom, at all events we had better put 
forth all we have, lest the Rebels succeed in their claims 
to have been the simon pure patriots and 'Union Men' of 
our day and generation. They have partially succeeded, 
and may completely succeed, for to-day not a single Union 
man represents the United States in foreign lands, and 
the logical conclusion is that we were wrong, and our oppo- 
nents right. So Lord Wolseley is not to be blamed for 
assuming Lee as the great hero of the Civil War in America. 
The war of muskets long since subsided, now the war 
of the pen must begin, else the remnant of the Union Army 
must pass down to history as barbarians. 

"Your friend, W. T. Sherman/' 



NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW 291 

''Army Building, New York, May 21, 1887. 

"Dear Byers: — I have received your letter of May 5th, 
and have seen Thorndike Rice about your articles, but did 
not tell him all you wrote. I think Rice is too much en- 
grossed with social life to give much of his personal atten- 
tion to the North American. All that I could extricate 
out of him was that your article would appear as early as 
possible. I sometimes pity these magazine men who have 
to read cords of manuscript, and out of the mass choose 
that which will pay. The great mass of work devolves on 
subordinates, and the editor finally indicates what shall be 
'set up.' Even after that, articles are kept hanging fire. 
You had better let what you have done stand, and in future 
watch the current of the public thought, prepare your papers, 
and deal with that magazine which you consider fairest. 

"Now as to my May number, it was suggested by Thorn- 
dike Rice in a telegram from Washington. I at first posi- 
tively declined, but when I got the full text of Wolseley's 
article in Macmillan's Magazine, I saw somebody must 
answer, and all turned to me. I wrote it one Sunday, and 
gave it to Rice for $500. If I had charged a thousand, he 
would have paid it. In like manner my article on the Grand 
Strategy of the War is longer, better, and I charged the 
Century Magazine $1,000 for it. It was designed to com- 
prehend the whole series of War Articles to be bound in 
a volume.''' It may appear in the August number of the 
Century. 

"I am besieged by the magazines, but shall reserve myself 
for chance shots like this of Wolseley's. I am not willing 
to rake among old embers for new fire. 

"Mrs. Sherman and Rachel are now at Detroit, on a visit 
to Tom. Lizzie and I are at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. All 



* This refers to the Century Co.'s "Battles and Leaders of the 
Civil War," for which Mr. Byers was also invited to contribute 
his article describing Sherman's Assault at Missionary Ridge, in 
which he was a participant. 



292 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

go to Lake Hotel, Lake George, N. Y., early in June. I 
will retain my room, and circulate generally. I ordered the 
Appletons to send you my second edition, in the theory 
that Mrs. S. had not done so. Please inscribe it to your 
son, on the blank page. You can substitute therefor at 
some time one of my letters, which will answer for an auto- 
graph. It is a good deal of trouble to go to the Appletons 
to do this in person. 
**Love to all 

"Yours truly, W. T. Sherman." 

Shortly, I was gratified to receive from him a letter com- 
plimentary to my article in the North American Review, 
describing his great campaign. 

"New York, Aug. 26, 1887. 
"Dear Byers: — In coming from my office in the Army 
Building, I stopped at the office of the North American 
Review, to see Thorndike Rice, but he was away at New- 
port, and his partner, Redpath, gave me an advance copy 
of the September number, which contains your article, 
'March to the Sea.' It reads to me very well, condensed, 
strong and well sustained by proofs. I think it will com- 
mand large attention, and I trust it will lead to profitable 
employment for your pen. The leading events of the war 
are now accepted, are crystallizing into pages, and even para- 
graphs. The public is tired of minute details, especially to 
bolster up this or that man. You have, in the compress of 
six or eight pages, given all that the memory of the 
ordinary reader can retain. I have already put it in a 
sealed envelope, addressed to my daughter Lizzie, who 
reads and appreciates everything from you. She, with 
her mamma, Rachel and Cump, has been up at Lake George 
since June. I have been up three times. Spent last week 
there, but am now here preparing for the Detroit meeting, 
Sept. 14-15, as also the G. A. R. Encampment at St. Louis, 



WADE HAMPTON'S ATTACKS 293 

Sept. 25-28. If you come to St. Louis then, you will find 
me at Henry Hitchcock's, corner of Fifteenth and Lucas 
Place^ 

"As always your friend, W. T. Sherman.'' 

In February of 1888, General Sherman wrote me some 
very decided views he had, as to the difference between 
loyal men and disloyal men. 

"New York, Feb. 10, 1888. 

"Dear Byers: — I have your letter of the 5th, and as I 
have staid indoors to-day for the express purpose of an- 
swering a batch of kind messages sent me on my sixty- 
eighth birthday, I answer yours in its turn. 

"Of course I am pleased to know that you approve my 
Century article. It would have seemed more opportune 
had it been printed a year in advance, as it was written 
at the same time as my Wolseley article. But the editors 
paid me for it, and could use it for their interests, and at 
their own time. It looks to me as if the Southern men 
will succeed, not only in controlling the history of the 
war, but in achieving the government of this country, not- 
withstanding we won the battles. Our Northern people split 
up on questions of minor interest, whereas they have skilled 
leaders who control 'their people,' and by throwing their 
vote into one or other of the Northern factions, actually 
govern both. This is none of my business, and I cannot 
help it. So long as I live, I will hold the most humble 
Union man as a better patriot than the proudest Carolinian 
of South Carolina. Wade Hampton is out in another blast 
against me for cruelty and inhumanity during the 'March.' 
The people of Georgia bore their affliction with some manli- 
ness, but in South Carolina from the Savannah River to the 
State line, the people whined like curs, and Wade Hamp- 
ton's resistance was so feeble as to excite our contempt. 
I shall not notice his paper, meant for home consumption, 



294 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

but if he attempt to enlarge his sphere, I will give him a 
blast of the truth, as you and hundreds know it. 

"I shall be glad if you come East, and it may be you 
can secure a better audience here than from Iowa. The 
time will come when the Mississippi Valley States will assert 
their supremacy in literature, as now in the products of the 
soil, but the time is not yet, and may not be in my day. 

"We are all reasonably w^ell except Mrs. Sherman. Wish- 
ing you and yours all the happiness possible, I am truly 
"Your friend, W. T. Sherman."' 

In June, General Sheridan was dying, and his great com- 
rade in arms sent me this little note. My book, "Iowa in 
War Times," had just appeared, and a copy was sent to 
him. 

"New York, June 2, 1888. 

"Dear Byers: — I received by due course of mail your 
letter of May 27th and yesterday came to me at the Fifth 
Avenue Hotel the volume, Towa in War Times.' I have 
cast my eye over it, and recognize most of the illustrations. 
The print, paper, etc., all seem good, and I know the text 
will be even better. It is hardly possible that I can read 
this volume in the whole, but I will have occasion to refer 
to parts, to compare with other accounts of the same general 
events. 

"General Sheridan's extreme illness has caused universal 
grief. I hear daily by telegraph from his brother, Colonel 
Sheridan, and have just sent a message of congratulations 
at his promotion to the full rank of 'General.' But hon- 
estly I feel that it was too late to carry with it much com- 
pliment. All hope of his recovery seems to be abandoned, 
and every morning I wake, expecting to find the papers in 
mourning. 

"Congress ought to make the rank of Lieutenant General 
permanent. It is simply dishonest for the country to com- 
pel a Major General to do the work of a Lieutenant Gen- 



HOME OF THE SHERMANS 295 

eral, just as in the war hundreds of Colonels had to com- 
mand brigades and divisions. 

"Mrs. Sherman is not so well, but went yesterday to 
make a month's visit to our daughter Elly near Philadelphia. 
Rachel and Lizzie are with me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. 

"Give my best love to Mrs. Byers and the family. 
"Always your friend, W. T. Sherman."" 

By September the Shermans were in their new. home in 
New York, at Seventy-first Street. After all, they were 
keeping house again. The General had had enough of 
expensive and fashionable hotels. He had been homeless 
longer than he cared to be. He describes this house in his 
letter of the i6th. I was also glad to have his approval of 
my "Iowa in War Times." 

"No. 75 West 71st St. 

"New York, Sept. 16, 1888. 

"Dear Byers : — When at Columbus, your letter of Sept. 
1st was handed me by Maj. Loring, at a time when I was 
chased from corner to corner as though I had just escaped 
the penitentiary. I fear the Major thought me neglectful 
of him and his letter. Let him put himself in my place. 
Forty thousand ex-soldiers and sixty thousand strangers 
were added to the resident population, all bent on seeing the 
sights, of which I was one. Instead of dying out, the 
interest in the war and its actors seems to grow with 
time. I w^as not allowed time to eat or sleep, much less 
read and write letters, but I escaped alive and should be 
grateful. 

"I am now in our new house, not as large as that in 
St. Louis, but better located, near Central Park and near 
the Sixth Avenue Elevated R. R. Four full stories and 
basement, in which I have my office with all my books 
and papers. Not divided as they were when I was at the 
Fifth Avenue Hotel. 



296 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

"The interior arrangements are not yet complete, so the 
family is away, but by the middle of next week it will be 
all ready and the family will come. I hope this is my last 
change on earth. 

'T have at intervals found time to read your volume, 
'Iowa in War Times,' and congratulate you in having 
succeeded in giving to each regiment and organization a 
fair measure of space, and yet preserved the general au- 
thenticity of events. I hope the book pays you proportion- 
ately to your labor and expense. As now established with 
Mr. Barrett I can always supply you dates, facts and 
figures, should you still pursue your literary labors. 

''With love to the family, I am, etc., W. T. Sherman."" 

Mrs. Sherman's health had been failing somewhat for 
months, but nothing absolutely serious was anticipated 
till, unexpectedly, she was worse in the mid-winter. Then 
the end came so suddenly that some of her children could 
not reach New York in time to see her passing away. 

I was in California, and shortly received this reply to 
my letter of sympathy: 

"New York, Dec. 19, 1888. 
"My Dear Byers: — Your letter of sympathy is here. 
Mrs. Sherman had long been ailing from heart trouble and 
general disability, and everything that could be done for 
her relief was willingly offered by me and the children. 
I did not realize any danger until the day before her death, 
when she began to fail very perceptibly, and I at once tele- 
graphed to the absent members of the family to join us 
at once. Neither Mrs. Fitch, ]\Irs. Thackera, or Tom 
reached home in time to see their mother alive. The re- 
mainder of us were at the death-bed, and were witnesses 
of a painless and peaceful end. We had learned that there 
was no possibility of her ever fully recovering, and as she 
therefore must have contended with much pain and suffer- 
ing, our anguish at her demise was somewhat assuaged. 



SHERMAN AS A POET 297 

''Every courtesy was extended the funeral party on its 
sorrowful journey to and from St. Louis, Mr. Roberts, Pres- 
ident of the Penn. R. R., excelling in his kind and accepted 
offer of his private car. At St. Louis, all preliminaries had 
been carefully attended to by Messrs. Jas. Yeatman and 
Geo. D. Capen, so that we were enabled to start on the 
return trip the same evening. 

"I well know the respect and honor with which Mrs. 
Sherman held you at all times, and in which we all shared, 
and I beg you now to be assured of our continued affection 
and deep interest in all that concerns you and yours. 

"Sincerely your friend, W. T. Sherman/' 

In September of 1889 the Army of the Tennessee was 
to hold its reunion and banquet at Cincinnati. I was elected 
to deliver an original poem for the occasion. As General 
Sherman was president of the Association, I sent a copy of 
my poem to him in advance. It was called "The Tramp of 
Sherman's Army." I was greatly interested to receive the 
copy back from him, with marginal notes and suggestions 
for changes written over it, and even a couple of new lines 
of his ozun composition. Possibly, it was the only time 
General Sherman ever indulged in writing poetry. 

When the reunion took place, many great characters sat 
upon the stage — Cox, Logan, Dodge, Howard, Sherman 
and many others of the great war heroes. At the tables sat 
hundreds whose names had been known in the Civil War. 

The toasts consisted of stanzas from "Sherman's March 
to the Sea." They were elegantly painted by hand on 
white satin, on which also was traced in gold the route of 
that famous March. Each toast was responded to by the 
particular General who had commanded at the point de- 
scribed in the verse. General Sherman, as president, made 
the first speech. 

He then introduced me to the audience, and I recited my 
poem, "The Tramp of Sherman's Army," with bugle strain 



298 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

accompaniment. Its reception showed that the enthu- 
siasm for war ballads had not died out. Each morning of 
the reunion the officers of the Army of the Tennessee, pre- 
ceded by a drum corps or a band, walked in line from the 
Burnet/:" House over to the hall where they held their meet- 
ings. Though Sherman was there, and many other dis- 
tinguished men, it was almost a sad and pathetic sight as 
they walked together in the middle of the street, death 
had so thinned the line and reduced the number! Some 
of the onlookers did not realize what men were marching 
there, what names for history, or that among that peaceful 
looking little band were veterans who had led great armies 
to battle. 

************ 

March, 1888. — With Mr. Harrison's installation at the 
White House, I resolved to again, if possible, enter the 
service abroad. In the meantime, my military book of Iowa 
had not been a source of profit. One large edition sold, 
that w^as all. It seemed I w^as not alone in receiving no 
great income from war books. General Sherman, speaking 
of his own experience, wrote the following letter: 

*'New York, June 14, 1890. 

"Dear Byers : — I have just received your letter, enclosing 
the programme of exercises for the i8th. I see so many 
boys nowadays, who w^ere born after the war, that I am 
hardened. It so happens that my youngest, Cump, born at 
St. Louis, since the war, is being examined to-day for ad- 
mission to the bar. I am also just back from West Point, 
where I saw the corps of cadets, about three hundred, 
strong, brawny boys, all born since the war, who now look 
up to me as a stray souvenir of a bygone age. 

'T am sorry to learn that your book, Towa in War Times,' 
has not proven more profitable. Your case is not excep- 
tional, as I have good reason to know. So many expect me 
to present copies of my 'Memoirs,' ignorant of the fact that 



PRESIDENT HARRISON 299 

the publisher gets nine-tenths, the author one-tenth, so that 
when I present a copy it amounts to my buying it at 80 cents 
less than the common purchaser. My annual receipts from 
Sherman's Memoirs don't pay one-quarter of traveling ex- 
penses demanded at the Army Reunion each year. The 
same is true of Sheridan's and other war books. Grant's 
case is exceptional, because purchasers believe they contrib- 
ute to the support of his family. 

''Of course I know nothing of your prospects for a 
mission or consulate. I infer the present administration, 
like all others, must use offices to pay for active political 
work. 

"Present me kindly to Mrs. Byers. Lizzie is now absent 
on a visit to her sister, Mrs. Thackera, at Cape May. 
Rachel is at home, and we generally have visitors. 

"Sincerely your friend, W. T. Sherman.'" 

Senator James F. Wilson, who had been a true friend in 
all the years that I had been in Europe, took me to the 
Executive Mansion one day, to introduce me to the Presi- 
dent. It was a curious meeting that morning. I had never 
seen Mr. Harrison, and we waited with interest in the ante- 
room of his private office. The place was full of grave look- 
ing Senators. It might have been a funeral. 

Mr. W. and I stood half an hour waiting among the rest. 
I wondered why the President's door did not open. All 
the time there was a little low buzzing going on among 
some of the waiting ones, and I noticed a few slip up and 
whisper to a very sober looking little man, in a corner by 
the window. I supposed him to be a Senator. There would 
be some low talk with him, a stiff bow, and then some other 
Senator would slip up and go through the same perform- 
ance. At last I whispered to Mr. Wilson, "Who is that man 
by the window?" "Why, that is the President," he an- 
swered, to my complete astonishment. We had been in 
his presence all the time, and I had not known it. Now 



300 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

my attention was doubly fixed on him. Here was a quiet 
little man in the corner, ruling seventy millions of people. 
He seemed to indicate, by an extra glance, who might ap- 
proach him next. I thought the Senators were all afraid 
of him, judging from the humble way in which they walked 
to the corner, and the very prompt manner in which they 
went away. There was not a smile on anybody's face, and 
all was silence. Had they all been stepping up to take a last 
look at somebody's corpse, the scene could not have been 
very different. If he actually promised some Senator some- 
thing, there was no sign of the promise on his face. 

After a while, he glanced over to Senator Wilson. We 
were but a few feet away. Mr. W. went up and spoke in 
a low voice, telling him, as I now know, something of the 
propriety of appointing men of experience to the service, 
and suggesting my name. Not a muscle moved on the 
President's face. It is no go for me, I said to myself. 
Then Mr. Wilson said, a little louder: *'Now, Mr. Presi- 
dent, let me present Mr. Byers." I heard him and stepped 
forward. I expressed the honor done me, and he mechan- 
ically took my hand ; but, as if taking a second thought on 
the matter, he looked over my shoulder at somebody else, 
and, without saying a word, simply let go. My interview 
with the President of the United States was over. I laugh 
about it yet. 'Tt did not promise much, did it?" I said to 
the Senator, as we went out. "Well, no, nothing extremely 
definite, or to count on," replied Mr. Wilson. "But he never 
says much, and means much more than he says. He is icy 
with everybody, you saw that?" Yes, I thought I did. A year 
went by and I did not try it again. A place was offered 
me in South America, but I did not care for it. Then one 
morning Mr. Wilson said, "We will go and see Mr. Blaine." 
The interview was absolutely the opposite of the one at the 
White House. Secretary Blaine had great esteem for the 
Iowa Senator, as did every one who knew him. He invited 
us both to come and visit him the next morning, at his 



MR. BLAINE 301 

private house. It was at the corner of Lafayette Square, 
opposite the Treasury. While we waited in the drawing- 
room I forgot for the moment what I had come for. I 
was only thinking of the singular history of that house. 

Upstairs was the room where the attempt on Secretary 
Seward's life was made, the night Lincoln was assassinated. 
Out there in front of the door, Key was killed by General 
Sickles. At this moment, the house was the home of the 
most noted living American statesman. 

Shortly Mr. Blaine entered, all cheer and sunshine. He 
was a handsome man, with his fine erect form, his intel- 
lectual face, his genial smile, his great, big heart. He did 
not need the Presidency to make him great. Though able 
for very hard work still, he was looking very white in the 
face, his hair was quite gray. He talked to us for a time 
about the need of keeping well. Did he have premonitions 
then ? "Never sleep in a room without a window raised, 
be it ever so little," he said, "and don't go to late night ban- 
quets in crowded rooms. Secretary Windom," he went on, 
"has been murdered by trying to please crowds, speaking 
to them when he ought to have been in bed. I am done 
letting people make an exhibition of me. I will never, never 
sit in a room full of smokers again, and sacrifice health for 
others' curiosity. That's all they want of public men in such 
places, and one can die at it just as Windom has done."* 

After a while I wondered if the Secretary had forgotten 
the object of our call. Senator Wilson hinted at it at last, 
and Mr. Blaine got up, walked about the room and said: 
"Really, now, I have been too busy to keep my promise." 
He asked us to come to him 'again, and fixed the morning. 
"Bring with you the consular list and we will go all over it 
together." He also spoke of a kind letter on file in my 
interests from General Sherman, who was then very ill in 
New York. 



* A few evenings before, Secretary Windom had dropped dead 
while addressing a company of banqueters in New York. 



302 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

That afternoon, while on a street car going over to the 
Capitol, I heard the conductor tell a passenger that General 
Sherman was dead. I was greatly moved and pained. A 
thousand instances of his friendship for me rushed through 
my mind. In a few minutes I heard, from a seat in the 
Senate Gallery, the eulogiums pronounced by Senators 
Evarts, Hawley and ]\Ianderson. Hawley almost broke 
down in tears. The Senate adjourned, and probably every 
loyal heart in America was in sorrow. The Southerners 
in the Senate that afternoon, sat still, and heard the eulogies 
on Sherman in perfect silence. I wondered that not one of 
them had the nobility to rise in his seat and speak of the 
great dead. 

I went to New York and on the morning of the funeral 
w^as with the family at the Sherm.an home. In the little back 
parlor, in the full uniform of his highest rank, lay the com- 
mander of the March to the Sea. Candles burned around his 
coffin in the darkened chamber. While I was standing 
there, looking at his face, his son, Father Thomas E. Sher- 
man, who had that moment reached home from Europe, 
came into the room. He embraced me, for we had many 
mutual memories. 

A short Catholic service was held by the children that 
morning over all that was left of their illustrious father. 
They were all sincere Catholics. The mother, devoted to the 
same church, had died in the room upstairs. The father 
had been reconciled to his children's kind of religion. He 
was not a professor of any creed himself, and for his 
children to have this farewell ceremony, conducted by his 
own son, seemed in every way appropriate. 

That afternoon. New York City and the people of Amer- 
ica buried General Sherman. A more imposing funeral 
was never seen in the United States, not even at the death 
of Washington. 

Shortly, Senator Wilson and I, on invitation, went to 
Secretary Blaine's home again. There was a bright "Good 



TO SWITZERLAND AGAIN 303 

morning, Mr. Wilson," as the Secretary again entered the 
drawing-room. Seeing me, he walked across the room, 
took me by the hand and congratulated me on my reap- 
pointment. "Your name goes to the Senate this afternoon 
for St. Gall," he continued, "the post shall shortly be in- 
creased in rank, and you will be made Consul General for 
Switzerland." He offered me my old post at Zurich, how- 
ever, if I preferred it. I never saw Mr. Blaine again. 



CHAPTER XXX 
1891 

GO TO SWITZERLAND AS CONSUL GENERAL — AN OCEAN VOY- 
AGE THEN AND NOW — A GLIMPSE OF BURNS' HOME — THE 
HIGHEST CITY IN EUROPE — A NOVEL REPUBLIC — LIFE IN 
THE HIGHER ALPS — HEADQUARTERS FOR EMBROIDERY — 
PRINCESS SALM SALM — AN OPEN AIR PARLIAMENT — THE 

UPPER RHINE — AT HAMBURG A SUMMER ON THE BALTIC 

— INTERVIEW WITH PRINCE BISMARCK. 

In a few weeks I was again in Switzerland; this time 
away up among the Alps, for St. Gall is the highest city 
of any importance in the world. 

The sea voyage had been uneventful. The only lion 
among the passengers on the ''City of New York" was 
Henry M. Stanley. His v/ife, a distinguished looking En- 
glish lady, was with him. 

April 10, i8pi. — This is my fourteenth sea voyage on 
the Atlantic. What changes in ships since 1869! First- 
class steamers of that time are now all off on second-class 
lines to South America ; or else they are at the bottom of 
the sea. Three that I crossed on have since gone down — 
"City of London," "Anglia," "Deutschland." 

Yet aside from the added speed, the changes in ocean 
ships are not so favorable as we try to think them. True, 
the vessels are more palatial, but one can be just as seasick 
on a floating palace as on board a schooner. Besides, 
speed and a palace are poor recompense for the crowds that 
pack a modern ocean greyhound. Twenty years ago every- 
body knew everybody on shipboard, and many of the ship 

(304) 




St. Gall.— Page job. 



^ 



MEMORIALS OF BURNS 305 

acquaintances became friends for life. Then, too, few of 
one's fellow passengers had ever been to Europe. There 
was all the joy of expectation that made the little crowd 
happy. Those who fly often across the Atlantic have 
small pleasure compared with the delight of those who long 
ago saw land for the first time after a long voyage. 

The crowds, the blase character of half the passengers, 
have robbed a sea voyage of most of its delights. 

April 20. — We came straight from Liverpool to Scotland, 
and staid a week in Ayrshire at the old home of my wife's 
father. "Clerkland," their old farm place, is there as good 
as it was centuries since, when presented by Mary Queen 
of Scots to Mary Livingstone, one of her maids of honor. 
It seems strange to read in the town register the name of 
every owner of the Gilmour home for three or four hun- 
dred years down to the present time. We do things differ- 
ently in America, where we hardly know where our own 
fathers were bom. 

The old-fashioned graveyard back of the kirk at Stew- 
arton, with its big brown granite slabs, confirms the town 
register. They are all there, save an occasional one who 
wandered beyond the sea and died among strangers. A 
pretty memorial window in the same kirk tells of John 
Gilmour, my wife's uncle, a young poet, called the Kirk 
White of Ayrshire, who took all the Glasgow University 
prizes, won fame, and died at nineteen. 

We went to every spot near Ayr, made illustrious by the 
name of Burns — Bonny Doon, Kilmarnock, Ellisland, every- 
where, and held in our hands the very Bible the poet gave 
to Highland Mary as they bade farewell forever, standing 
with hands clasped across a little brook. 

Our friend and guide was Mr. McKee, the old Burns 
scholar and historian, who in his youth had known many 
of Burns' friends. He is a last link with the poet's day. 
He gave me a souvenir, his own book on Burns. I have 
kept it with one given me later at Edinburgh by a friend 

20 



306 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

of Walter Scott, who had been an apprentice In the printing 
house where Walter Scott was a member. As a messenger 
for the poet, he carried his manuscripts from Abbotsford to 
Edinburgh, and the money for them back to Scott. He 
wrote his name in an early edition of "Marmion," and gave 
it to us. 

St. Gall, Switzerland, May Day, i8pi. — The Consulate 
and our home is at 41 Museum Strasse. The duties here 
are five times what they were at Rome. The district sends 
forty million francs worth of laces and embroideries to New 
York in a single year, and a hundred million francs worth of 
goods are sent from the country at large. These are all 
invoiced and samples examined at the consulates, while to 
avoid frauds, copies of the sworn invoices are sent to the 
shipper, to the Custom House, and to the Treasury. 

There is not another city situated like St. Gall in all the 
world. It has 40,000 people, and they live like a little king- 
dom to themselves, up here among the Alps. The customs of 
the people differ from everything else in Switzerland. The 
families are as clannish as the old Scots, and their ways of 
doing things almost as old as their mountains. 

This land of St. Gall was once a Republic by itself, like 
Venice. Its history is half forgotten. Napoleon put an end 
to it after it had endured five hundred years. 

It was modeled on the plan of some of the Greek states. 
Its founders had been readers of history, not politicians try- 
ing experiments. They had a good chance to govern wholly 
for themselves, and to be let alone. They were isolated in 
the heart of the beautiful Alps, and their valleys were three 
or four thousand feet above sea level. Mountain scenery 
of the finest description surrounded them everywhere, just 
as it does the land of their children to-day. A thousand feet 
below them, lay a beautiful and historic lake. 

They had Burgomasters for Presidents, and it was purely 
a people's government. Its type exists in neighboring Ap- 
penzell even to-day. There the parliament meets in 



THE PEOPLE OF ST. GALL 307 

meadows, and the people pass laws by the showing of hands. 

Wegelin, the famous historian of Frederick the Great, 
speaking of this forgotten government of St. Gall, says: 
*Tt is a Republic where a handful of virtuous citizens accom- 
plish what the greatest monarchs fail in. They guard their 
state from disorder and revolution by the simple grace of 
homely virtues. An habitual honor prevails there as a 
happy instinct." 

To the honor of the modern dwellers in the land of the 
old Republic, let it be said, the virtues of their ancestors 
have not been forgotten. 

A great Italian traveler visited the little old Republic 
once, and I translate from a letter he wrote home. It is a 
novel letter : "The people of the St. Gall Republic are great 
traders and manufacturers, and are noted for their integrity. 
Weaving linen is their great industry. There are few fail- 
ures in business, and cheating is a crime. The merchants 
and traders are mostly nobles. They travel when young and 
learn all languages. Flax is spun here to the fineness of 
a hair. The bleaching is wonderful, owing to the pure water 
of the Alps. The rich own many estates in the Rhine valley 
near by, and beautiful gardens are about the town. The 
taxes are small, but more than support the economical gov- 
ernment. The surplus in the city treasury is loaned to 
citizens at low interest, to insure factories, house building, 
etc. Officers are held to terribly strict account. The bless- 
ings of heaven rest on the Republic as a reward for its 
charities, which are unbelievably great. No citizen is 
permitted to live in bitter distress. The people are extremely 
pious and the men appear in church (close by) several times 
a day, in white collars and black mantles, while women serve 
God only in black dresses."* 

With some modifications as to taxes, church-going, etc., 



* A detailed sketch by me of this remarkable little Republic, ap- 
peared in Magazine of American History, December, 1891. 



308 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

this Italian's letter would be a fair description of the people 
here to-day. The manufacturing industry of their fathers, 
in changed form, continues, and St. Gall is the first em- 
broidery-making city of the world. 

In its neighborhood, 30,000 people work at hand looms 
in their pleasant homes, making curtains, lace edgings, hand- 
kerchiefs — the delight of mankind. Great factories, work- 
ing steam machines, are also filling the world's market with 
the same articles. Designing these beautiful articles has 
become a St. Gall fine art. Nature helps the artist here, 
for after a moist day and a cold night in winter, the pines 
of the forest, the hedge rows, the lawn trees and the vines 
put on a magnificence of frost work absolutely indescribable. 
Millions of forest pines, drooping with icicles, snow and 
frost, resemble an ocean of Christmas trees glinting in the 
sunlit gates of paradise. 

The people of St. Gall, surrounded as they are, could 
not help but make things beautiful. That many have grown 
rich at it, and live in beautiful villas on the heights about 
the city, is not to be wondered at. 

Sometimes, though, a high American tariff, or bitter com- 
petition elsewhere, make hard times for the common em- 
broiderer whose wages are never high. This very winter 
starvation stares many of the makers of the beautiful things 
in the face, and a franc a day is the poor pittance for twelve 
hours' work. In better times even six francs are earned. 
Then the great shippers, who furnish the linen and cotton 
and silk to the peasants, and buy their embroideries from 
them, grow rich. St. Gall is full of rich people, and it is 
full of scholars and culture. 

Once a year the city itself, at its own expense, gives all 
the schools a great festival and banquet on some high, green 
meadow. The sight of from five to ten thousand happy boys 
and girls, all in pretty costumes, bearing garlands and 
marching with banners and music, is not to be forgotten. 



CHRISTMAS EVENINGS 309 

The Sirocco or Foehn winds have been blowing for a 
week. Sunday, the fine town of Meyringen was burned 
up, seven hotels and three hundred houses. Nothing can 
save a town, once on fire, when this dry scorching wind 
blast is in the mountains. It is no longer believed to be a 
Sirocco, however, coming from the African desert, but a 
thing born of the changeful temperatures in the mountains. 
It is a disagreeable freak of nature, and half the people are 
ill when the Foehn wind blows. But it brings the moun- 
tains out in added grandeur, everything seems nearer, snow 
fields and lofty mountains forty miles away seem but five 
miles off. Their distinctness then is marvelous, their 
beauty tenfold. 

The scenery everywhere about St. Gall is purely Alpine. 
The ''Rosenberg," a long, low mountain close by, is lined 
with magnificent villas; nothing like it elsewhere in the 
world. Back of these villas, far below them, but still in 
view, is the Lake of Constance. In front of them, deep 
in the valley, sits the city, while beyond the valley rise the 
glorious mountains. Nature and man have combined here 
to make everything beautiful. The people are kind and 
hospitable, more so than elsewhere in Switzerland. Even- 
ings, we are often invited out to homes where the charac- 
teristic St. Gall life is enjoyable. 

Many a time we have climbed up the Apfelberg to the 
homes of Swiss friends. Sylvester evenings, Christmas 
evenings, and the like, are celebrated by family reunions, 
sparkling Christmas trees and great dinners. Wine flows like 
water and the fatted Niiremberg goose takes the place of the 
American turkey. A circle is formed around the Christ- 
mas tree and all join hands and dance, father, mother, sister, 
brother, friends and servants. As at the country houses 
in England, for once, servants and master are on a footing. 
Everybody taking part gets his present. 

On summer evenings the young ladies of the house 



310 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

sometimes place by our plates at supper wild Alpine roses 
that grew in their own garden. Possibly not another spot 
in the world, where fine modern homes and Alpine roses 
are side by side. 

The view of the illuminated city at night from these high 
villas, is grand beyond any fireworks ever conceived. On 
festive occasions, fires are built on the sides of the opposite 
mountains, or Bengal lights burn on villa lawns high up be- 
yond the valley, when the scene reveals all our imagined 
pictures of fairyland. 

The Americans, together with the Minister and Consuls 
in Switzerland, celebrated the Fourth of July at the hotel 
''Baur au Lac" in Zurich. Minister Washburn presided. 
Many were present. The day before, I had sent cowboys 
into the higher Alps about St. Gall, to gather Alpine roses 
for the occasion. They brought me bushels of them, and 
the chief decoration of the table at the banquet was a solid 
pyramid of Alpine roses ten feet high. 

Few American tourists visit St. Gall, but many New York 
importers have agents and factories here. There is a con- 
stant business rivalry between them and the Swiss. 

One of the interesting people who came to us this sum- 
mer was Princess Salm Salm. She has her home at Bonn 
on the Rhine. She is one of the most beautiful women to 
be met anywhere. A kind heart has kept her young. She 
is one of the fevv^ Americans who married foreign titles and 
were happy. It was a love match — not a buying of a bride. 
Her life has been one of extraordinary interest. Her hus- 
band, a German Prince on General Bleeker's stafif in our 
Civil War, fell in love with the young beauty at Washing- 
ton, married her, and when the war was done took her with 
him to Mexico, where he was a high officer on the staff of 
the Emperor Maximilian. Like the Emperor, he was sen- 
tenced to be shot. His young wife, by extraordinary clever- 
ness and great exertion, saved his life. History now relates 
how the Emperor's life would have been saved also, had 



MOUNTAIN CLIMBING 311 

he followed this clever woman's plans. All was arranged 
for his escape. The Emperor hesitated and was lost. The 
Prince and Princess went to Germany, where her beauty, 
talents and rank, brought her friends among the great 
people of the country. She and her husband were favorites 
of the King of Prussia. When the war with France broke 
out the Prince was an officer in the Fourth Guards, or the 
Queen's Own regiment. His wife was one of the titled 
women of Germany who labored in the army hospitals. The 
Prince was shot dead while leading his command at Grave- 
lotte. The Princess remained, helping the wounded to the 
end of the war. A more fascinating book than her story of 
her life in three wars, I have not read. Many novels have 
this interesting woman for their heroine. 

>fc ^ 5^ * * * J|: >{: * * * * 

Last week, five of us, including my son, started to climb 
up the Saentis, the highest mountain in the vicinity. We 
began the ascent late. Storm and darkness coming on, we 
lost our way. Half the night was spent up there, creeping 
about on ice and stones. At last we stood still and yelled 
all together. We were heard at the little weather hut on top 
of the mountain at last, and the guides came down with dogs 
and lanterns and helped us out of our dilemma. We were 
all well used up, and as for myself, I received an injury that 
I may never get rid of. We got home next day, and Vv^ere 
off the mountains just in time to escape a great snowfall 
that will bury the path till next year. 

General Sherman's daughter, Mrs. Thackera, paid us a 
long visit, as did our old friends, the Edmundsons and 
Frankels. 

Together we made excursions, notably to ''The Little 
Land of Appencell/' described so beautifully by Bayard 
Taylor. We went to the meeting of the people's parlia- 
ment — a strange spectacle. All the peasants came, wearing 
swords as signs of their right to vote. It was a mass meet- 



312 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

ing in the open air. Ten to fifteen thousand voters stood 
and voted on the laws of the canton. These laws, pro- 
posed by the outgoing officials, had been printed and dis- 
tributed in the farmhouses weeks before. These officials 
in old-time garb now stood before the people on a raised 
platform. There was no discussion at the mass meeting. 
"Do you want this law — yes or no?" said the President, 
and that was all there was to it. In two hours' time new 
laws had been adopted. The canton officials went through 
the ceremony of transferring their state mantles to the shoul- 
ders of the newly elected officers. Then the vast crowd were 
asked to bare their heads, 'hold up their right hands and 
swear new allegiance to the Republic. When that packed 
mass of humanity turned their faces to the sun, and held 
up ten thousand brown hands, it was the most impressive 
scene one can imagine. They meant it. The vast moun- 
tains stood around and looked on in silence. Far below we 
could see the broad lake shining like a sea of silver. When 
the oath was over, the bands played, and the peasant law- 
makers returned in silence to their homes. There had not 
been a single disturbance, not a rude, loud word. 

For hundreds of years this simple people of Appenzell 
have met and made their laws in this way, and, as a his- 
torian said of the old Republic of St. Gall, "They guard 
their state from disorder and revolution by the simple grace 
of homely virtues." 

September, i8pi. — The six hundredth anniversary of the 
founding of the Swiss Republic has now been celebrated — 
the most unique celebration possibly the world ever saw. 
Three million people took part in it. Every man, woman and 
child in Switzerland understood the significance of the fes- 
tival, and contributed to its glory. On every mountain top 
joy fires burned, in every valley the bells rang paeans of 
liberty. On top of the mighty peak of the Mythen, in sight 
of the spot where independence was declared, stood a flam- 



A PATRIOTIC CELEBRATION 313 

ing cross of fire, fifty feet across and a hundred feet high. 
It shone Hke a beacon Hght to a milHon witnesses, who saw 
it from the heights near and far, over all the Alps. Illum- 
inations shone in every hamlet, even to the edges of the 
snow fields and glaciers. For days Te Deums sounded, 
masses were said, and a whole people gave thanks for five 
hundred years of liberty. The usual vocations of men in 
the Republic came to a standstill, so that employer and em- 
ployed, high and low, rich and poor, could participate in 
the dramatic rehearsal of the country's history. Near the 
town of Schwyz, where Swiss liberty was born, a vast stage 
and amphitheater were erected, where amid the applause of 
multitudes the whole panorama of Swiss history was re- 
enacted with all the splendor of costume and scenic effect 
of past ages. Once more William Tell, Arnold Winkelried 
and Stauffacher with all the old Swiss heroes, walked among 
the people, in sight of the very lakes and mountains that had 
witnessed their heroic deeds. The great museums were 
emptied of their historic arms and banners, and Morgarten 
and Sempach were fought over again with the same helle- 
bards, morgensterns and battle axes that had been used in 
the dreadful encounters of centuries ago. The blood stains 
of the ancient heroes were still upon their blades, and the 
descendants of the Swiss martyrs for liberty, counting the 
cost, stood as ready to die for their country as did ever the 
men who founded freedom among the Alps. 

The river Rhine is close by us here, flowing through Lake 
Constance. Every day in summer sees crowds of the St. 
Gallese rushing down to the lake by train, to bathe in its 
waters. The ride down there, with its glimpses of mountain 
valleys, blooming orchards, and shining waterfalls, is one 
of the most picturesque in Europe. Down by the water 
side are villages and walls old as the time of the Romans. 

The little valleys and the plains between St. Gall and the 
lake, are planted with hundreds of pear orchards. In the 



314 TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 

spring, when this ocean of pear trees is in full white blossom, 
the ride down to the lake is truly wonderful. 

Spelterini is here with his big balloon, to take people trav- 
eling above the mountain tops. Some of our friends went 
up for a few hours, repeatedly, and pronounce the view of 
the lake, mountain and valley as seen from the sky, some- 
thing wonderful. He charges 200 francs for a few hours' 
ride among the mist and clouds. He passed close above our 
house yesterday morning at a great rate. He has made 
a thousand ascents and never had an accident. Riding with 
his balloon at a height of 15,000 feet, and at an express 
speed is safer than riding on American railroads. 

May 7j, 1893. — News has come of the appointment of a 
new Consul General for Switzerland. The rotating machine 
has been put to work. I scarcely dare to complain. 

A new administration at Washington can remove me 
from office, but it cannot take away from me the pleasure 
of the past years. Still I have lived so long among the de- 
lightful scenes of Switzerland I leave them with a pang. 

" Aufwiedersehen," our friends call out as they throw us 
their roses, the train moves, we are looking for the last time 
possibly on the mountains. 

Part of this summer of 1893 ^^ spent with our friends, 
the Witts, at Hamburg, and then together we went to 
the Island of Riigen in the Baltic Sea, where many de- 
lightful weeks among novel scenes were ending our stay 
in Europe. 

Later, our friends offered to take us to see Prince Bis- 
marck, at his home at "Friedrichsruhe." 

A couple of hours' ride from Hamburg through an un- 
interesting country of sand and pine trees, brought us to 
the little station not far from the ex-Chancellor's house. It 
seemed like a villa stuck away in the woods of North Car- 
olina, yet delegations find this hidden spot from every cor- 
ner of Germany, and come here by trainfuls, to do homage 



BISMARCK 315 

to the man who made the empire. He is a greater man here 
on his farm than the Emperor is in BerHn on his throne. 
There is not much about the rather ill-kept looking estate to 
attract attention. There are a thousand handsomer estates 
all over Germany. 

We wait, as directed, under the trees behind the castle 
(though it is no castle at all) for pretty soon the great 
man will come down the garden walk. Miss Witt, who 
has an enormous bouquet of flowers for him (she has given 
him flowers before), will approach him first, and then the 
rest of us. There come his two big Danish dogs down the 
path now. In a moment they are followed by a powerful 
looking old man who carries a big club of a cane, and wears 
a great slouch hat of felt. He knows what the young lady 
and the flowers mean very quickly, and his strong, marked 
face is soon in smiles. We are all presented. I speak to 
him in English, but he says, "Please speak German. There 
was a time when I spoke English, but that is almost gone." 
I looked at him closely, when others were talking. His great, 
wrinkled, seamed face looked as powerful as his herculean 
frame. I could not help thinking to myself, here stands 
the man who overthrew Louis Napoleon, and here is he who 
once ruefully said, "The lives of eighty thousand human 
beings would have been saved were it not for me." 

He had a few kind words for all of us, and Madame Sem- 
per he remembered well. But he was getting old, and 
seemed on the point of feebleness ; his great race was done. 
His dogs rubbed against his legs and looked at us as if they 
wanted us to stay away from their master. Shortly he lifted 
his great broad hat, saying: "My wife is waiting for me 
at breakfast. I bid you good-day." Then he turned and 
walked back to the castle. We had seen Bismarck. 



INDEX 



Alabama Claims 

Alcott, Bronson and Louise 

Alps .; 

Americans, at Zurich. . .115, 
Artists, ''American at Mun- 
ich 

Astor, W. W 

Avalanche, An 

Bauer, Caroline 

Beer Gardens 35, 

Berlin, Visit there 

Billingsgate Market 

Bismarck, Prince 

Black Forest 

Blaine 

Blanc, Louis 

Bocken 

Bonner, Kate Sherwood 

Boucicault, Dion 

Brentano, Lorenzo 

Bright, John 

Burns, Visit at home of 

Byron, Lord 

Letters about 

Capri, Island of 

Chicago Fire 

Christmas Night at Sea.... 
Commers of Students at 

Zurich 

Constitution, Swiss 

Conway, Hugh 

Crawford, Marion 

Custom House Frauds 



47 Davis, Winnie 143 

201 Dennison 126 

22 Disraeli, Lord Beaconsfield. 18 

162 Duels 117 

Dufour, General, 61; Let- 

157 ter 62 

248 

205 Elm Destroyed 205 

Eugenie, French Emoress. . 83 

38 Favre, Jules 45 

117 Fick, Professor 114 

225 Field, Kate iii 

17 Forney, Col. Jno. W 122 

314 Fox Hunting 166 

165 Frederick, Crown Prince... 2.2'j 

199 Freeman, Artist 98 

44 Frey, Emil 232 

49 Funeral, Swiss 36 

121 Of a Poet's Child zy 

112 Irish 209 

24 

18 Gambetta, Leon 45 

305 Garibaldi at Rome 97 

240 Gladstone, Speech by 18 

240 Hatred of 238, 269 

Gilmour, John, a Scotch 

266 Poet 305 

42 Grant, Gen. U. S., at White 

124 House, 71; visits Switzerland, 
128; conversations at Lake 

116 Luzern, 128; simplicity of 

loi life, 131; with the Swiss Pres- 

257 ident, 134; banquet to him at 

250 Bern, 134; and at Zurich, 

232 149; recollections of him in 
(317) 



3i8 



TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 



the War, 145; at Champion 
Hills, 145; his log cabin near 
St. Louis, 280; letter from 
him, 288. 

Harrison, President, Inter- 
view with 299 

Harte, Bret, 170; letters from, 
171, 172; visits Bocken, 174; 
visit the Rigi together, 177; 
and Obstalden, 178; more let- 
ters, 183, 185, 187. 

Hank, Minnie 107 

Holidays at the Consulate. 115 
Hortense, Queen of Hol- 
land 80 

"Home, Sweet Home," 

funeral of author 230 

Humbert, King of Italy 247 

Hurricane at Christmas... 124 

Ibsen at Rome 257 

Icebergs 121 

Immigration Difficulties.... 195 
Indians in Switzerland. 218, 228 

Inn, an English 16 

Ireland, a foot trip through. 206 
Ischia Destroyed 250 

Kaiser, the Old 229 

Keller, Ferdinand 241 

Keller, Gottfried 25 

King, Horatio, Literary 

Evenings in Washington. 122 
Kinkel, Gottfried, his death 

and funeral 219 

Letter from Mrs. Kinkel. 220 

And from Carl Schurz... 219 

Lake Dwellers of Switzer- 
land 241 

Leo XIII., Pope, presented 
to him 261 



Lions, Baby 227 

Liszt, Franz, at Zurich 141 

At Rome 260 

London, Sunday quiet, fog. 17 

Visit in 1875 in 

Longfellow, Henry W 200 

Lucca, Pauline 142 

Lugano 217 

Magazines, Writing for.... 139 
Margaret, Queen of Italy.. 252 
McDonald, Geo., at Wash- 
ington T2 

Miller, Joaquin, at Rome. . 99 
Moleschott, Roman Senator 269 
Moselle River, Our trip 

there 184 

Motley, Jno. L 18 

Napoleon III., his boyhood 
in Switzerland 80 

North American Review, 
Write articles for 276 

Obstalden, an Alpine Ham- 
let 119 

Storm in the Alps 119 

Ocean Voyages, then and 
now 304 

Orsini Cafe, distinguished 
people met there 25 

Paris, Horrors of the Com- 
mune 34 

Parliament in the Open Air 311 

Pierpont, Edwards, Gov- 
ernor 268 

Pierpont, Secretary of Leg- 
ation 265 

Polish Patriot and His Cas- 
tle on Lake Zurich 38 

Pope Leo XIII 261 

Porta Nigra, Ruins of 185 



INDEX 



319 



Rhine, the Source of 89 

Rigi, A Strange Experi- 
ence 132 

Robert, Christopher 123 

Rogers, Randolph 264 

Rome, Our Life in 246 

St. Bernard, Dogs there... 38 
St. Gall, Description of it.. 306 

Life there 306 

Salm-Salm, Princess 310 

Sargent, A. A., Minister to 

Berlin 225 

"Schiller," The Wreck of.. 127 

Scherr, Johannes 224 

Scotland, Visit to Burns' 

Home 305 

"Clerkland" 305 

Sherman, Gen.; see below. 

Smalley, Geo. W m 

Smith, Dr., Author of "Am- 
erica" 203 

Stein on the Rhine, Castle 

of 165 

Story, W. W 263 

Switzerland, cheap living there, 
21; new Constitution, loi; 
I write a book on Switzer- 
land, 108. 
Sherman, Gen. W. T., Visit at 
Zurich, 58; at Berne, 61; I 
visit his home in Washington, 
68; Mrs. Sherman, 67; letter 
from her, 104; takes me to 
see Mr. Blaine, 300; invites 
me to his home in St. Louis, 
275; my article on the March 
to the Sea, 276; life in the 
Sherman home, 277; conver- 
sations with the General, 276; 
gives me his army badge, 280; 
in New York, 288; his im- 
mense popularity with the 



people, 289; death of Mrs. 
Sherman, 296; at reunion of 
Army of Tennessee, 297; his 
sickness and death, 301, 302; 
speeches in the Senate, 302; 
his funeral, 302. 
Letters from Gen. Sherman: 
Franco-German War, ... 29 
Four letters as to his 

coming abroad 54, 76 

Loss of the "Atlantic"... 80 

Thiers 87 

Letter 93 

Cuba 96 

Too Many Commanders. 102 
War Histories. .103, 283, 292, 

Negro Question 109 

Writing His Memoirs 109 

Prussian Army Maneu- 
vers 118 

Confiscation by Taxes... 147 
Confederates More Popu- 
lar than Union Men 163 

Ready to Surrender 163 

About Italy 190 

Grant and the Presidency 192 

Politics 193 

His Son "Tom" 198 

The Duke of Wellington. 212 
Assassination of Presi- 
dent Garfield 213, 214 

Science of War 213 

The Mississippi Valley... 222 
Himself and the Presi- 
dency 223 

Retirement from the army 233 

His "Flaming Sword" 236 

The Presidency 237 

Views of Rome 258 

Politics 259 

Party Stronger than Pat- 
riotism 271 

Farms 272 



320 



TWENTY YEARS IN EUROPE 



Letters from Gen. Sherman: 

Taxes 272, 282 

Money Lending and 

Taxes 273 

"Keep Out of Debt" 273 

Memoirs 275, 298 

Grant's Book 283 

Newspapers 285 

Exhibited Like a Circus. 289 
No Union Man Left in 

Office Abroad 290 

The Magazines 289,291 

March to the Sea 292 

General Wolseley 293 

Late Rebels Getting Con- 
trol 293 

Sheridan Dying 294 

At Columbus 295 

Mrs. Sherman's Death... 296 

Tell, William, 50; a relic from 

Tell's chapel 50 

Terry, C. T 64 

Tilden-Hayes Contest 125 



Tilton, Rollin 265, 267 

Treves 185 

Twain, Mark, in Munich... 160 

At the Artists' Club 161 

Conversations with him.. 160 

Vedder, Elihu 265 

Victor, Emanuel loi 

Wagner, Richard, Life at 

Zurich 141 

Walton, Minnie 113 

"Wangensbach" 106 

War between France and 

Germany 28 

Washburne, E, B 64 

Willi, Dr 141 

Wilson, Senator Jas. F., 299; 

Blaine's regard for him, 300; 

secures my reappointment, to 

Switzerland. 303. 
Wood, Shakspeare 269 

Zurich, 20, 21; Mob at. .32, 114 



MAY 31 1900 



